II - A Bunch Of A-Holes

---

Ita Raa was first to the resort’s skimmer landing platform, just like she was first to everything she did. Her carapace was polished to regulation, her sword in perfect condition, her hair immaculately braided. The setting sun bathed her in a soft light that gave her skin a subtle glow. Her fellow ex-Turai Mauon Tanas stood in her shadow, just behind and to the side of her. Where Ita’s face was achingly symmetrical and unblemished, Mauon carried his sins for everyone to see: a large gash over the left side of his face, clearly deep enough to have torn out his eye and split his cheek all the way down to his gums. He’d been careless, once, in a fight with a beast. Kaukas had restored him to functional completeness but the mark would never leave him. Would always remind him.

“He’s late,” Mauon said.
“He’ll be here,” Ita said sweetly.
“How do you figure?” Mauon asked.
“Because,” Ita continued sweetly, “I’ll kill him myself if he doesn’t show.”

“No need for alarm,” came a third voice. Harsa Iaron, Ita’s second on the Khiraba team, had finally deigned to show up. He had blended into the populace of the resort, so to speak, with an entirely new outfit of trendy winter gear, the most incongruous of which was the branded toque-like hat that protected his shaven head from the mild mountain breeze over the plateau. Where Ita looked like she had walked out of a recruitment holo, Harsa seemed on his way to shoot an advertisement for the resort itself.

“So nice of you to join us,” Ita said. “Any news from the sweep?”
“Valoon is reviewing the logs,” Harsa said. “Manaj is going over the security footage. And Ngroni is interviewing the security detail for anything they might know.”
“So nothing,” Ita said. “And that doesn’t explain why you took your sweet time.”
“Honestly, Ita,” Harsa said. “Do you not enjoy the clear air, the quiet, the views? It wouldn’t kill you to live a little.”
“It might kill you to live a lot on our expense account,” Ita said. “Where’s the steward?”
“Last I saw him, he was still at dinner, schmoozing with the current batch of guests,” Harsa said. “I suppose he’s excusing himself right about now.”
“Skimmer ETA?” Ita asked Mauon.
“Just departed the gateport, two minutes late,” Mauon said. “I reckon we got five before it gets here.”
“Late?” Ita asked. “Find out why after the new arrivals get situated.”
“Yes ma’am,” Mauon said.
“Probably some nobles fussing over their luggage,” Harsa speculated. He closed his eyes and took a deep drag of mountain air. “Ah, it’s been a wonderful day, hasn’t it? A dead Bashakra’i, new faces, the promise of it all.”

The clamor from the resort proper was growing louder. Ita knew without turning that this meant the steward was arriving. Mausa Ogea, Steward of Khabosai, had lowered himself to acting like a resort concierge. She could see his small-minded intent - to pamper the incoming nobles and make them feel important - but to Ita it just looked like groveling unworthy of the dignity of his position. Worse, it meant that Mausa was bad at delegating. He hadn’t allowed anyone on his staff to assume such responsibilities. Keeping everything within eyesight must have served him on his way up but now, Ita mused, it threatened to drag him back down. No wonder the poor fool never seemed to catch his breath.

“Ita!” he called from a few dozen paces away, waving his hand in the air as if to signal Ita, as if to entice her to wave back, even. But Ita didn’t play these kinds of games. She had her dignity to consider and so she stood frozen at ease, her eyes tracking Mausa’s approach all the way to the platform. None of the resort staff following him met her gaze. Even Mausa seemed to flinch away when she looked at him up close.
“Good evening, Steward Ogea,” she said mechanically. “All is in order for the arrival of the new guests.”
“Good, good,” Mausa said. He wiped the sweat off his brow with a monogrammed handkerchief. Ita could tell it wasn’t hand-stitched, just made to order off a fabber. “You look lovely as ever, Ita.”
Ita smiled. “I know,” she said. “Do you want an update on the investigation?”
“Oh, no,” Mausa said. “Right now we are not talking about such grisly things. Right now we are welcoming new friends.”
“With a beautiful sunset,” Harsa added.
“...yes,” Mausa said, looking past Ita at Harsa and his plastic smile. Mausa flinched back from it, almost. He’d seen quite enough of Harsa in the last few days and now actively tried to avoid looking at the Khiraba’s dead eyes. Vidas Lam, even the scarred-up brute wasn’t this off-putting.
“There’s the skimmer,” Ita said, her sharp eyes spotting the moving speck silhouetted against the endless white of the snow caps before them. “Fall in!”

Ita had drilled both her team and the resort’s staff for an hour after lunch on the ceremony at the steward’s direction. They all lined up perfectly under her watchful eyes.

“Parade rest!” Ita called; a synchronized shuffle of feet ensued. Ita scanned the faces and the stances of the staff again, barely nodding her approval. Finally, she stepped back to stand at rest next to the half of her Khiraba team. “Your detail, Steward.”
“Yes, well, thank you, Ita,” Mausa stammered. He closed his eyes, took a breath, shook out his hands a bit.

It wouldn’t do for Ita to roll her eyes, so she stared straight forward, kept staring even as the skimmer’s shadow finally blocked the sun. The grand vehicle took its sweet time settling down onto the platform for the softest of landings. She noted the dust from the gateport clinging to the statically charged impeller housings, a blemish the maintenance crew would hopefully tidy up before anyone could take much notice of it. Finally, the skimmers double doors popped open with a hiss and swung aside for the exit ramp to unfold.

“Ah, my friends!” Mausa called loudly, spreading his arms in greeting even before any of the passengers aboard could disembark. “Welcome one and all to the Silver Mountain resort. As Steward of Khabosai it is my very good honor and great pleasure to receive you here for what I certainly hope will be an unforgettable trip.”

There were three kinds of nobles disembarking the skimmer, then. The first were the exceedingly proper, themselves equally split between those that would never admit that this was too gaudy a proceedings for them and those that would never admit there was not nearly enough pomp about the ceremony; both masked their discontent between quiet nods and sedate greetings to the Steward as they passed him by, with pre-assigned resort staffers peeling off the grand formation to accompany them to their accommodations. The second group were the Anything Goes nobles, those who had come looking for proper adventure and relished the opportunity to shake hands with the Steward and immediately regale him with their plans and prior exploits even as their servants struggled to get their luggage past them to the waiting staff. And finally, well…

“And do behave yourselves,” Dor said, Deungjeong and Marta following behind her as if dragged by leashes. “This is a good place. We paid dearly for the tickets, well I should say in truth that I paid dearly for them, so the least you could do is stand up straight and keep your mouths shut.” Weaving through the crowd past the not-queue - which noble would lower themselves to stand in a queue, after all? - Dor made straight for the man at the center of it all. “Ah, Steward Ogea, so glad to make your acquaintance!” she said, seizing his hand before he quite realized that she was moving to shake it. “Sauni Viis, of the Abena Viis,” she said. “May I introduce my nephew Toest. You’ll forgive the biomods, apparently this is the fashion, though I wouldn’t know it. Toest, now, come!”
Deungjeong stepped forward, slumping his shoulders only to earn a slap on the back from Dor. “Stand up straight when you greet the Steward! What did I just say?” she hissed at him, then turned to smile at Mausa. “An aunt’s work is never done, Steward Ogea, I’m sure you know.”
Mausa just nodded to Dor, his mouth slightly slack as Deungjeong shook his hand and then shuffled off to the side.
“And his betrothed, Lady Zasabo,” Dor added.
Marta stepped forward with a smile and shook Mausa’s hand. “Charmed,” she said.
“Run along, dear, the Steward is a busy man,” Dor said, all but pushing Marta into Deungjeong. She stepped away from Mausa, but stayed within earshot. “Now where is that good for nothing servant?”

---

Truth be told, Hulor had rather enjoyed the ride in the skimmer’s cargo compartment. There were plenty of suitcases to lean his back against, the thrum of the engines was a comforting bit of white noise and above all he hadn’t had to deal with the humans. He’d even gotten to sing a hunting song for an appreciative audience of one. Even though BONESAW’s saboteur shell had been carefully disguised among the sporting equipment carried in their luggage, it was still present via the vox clipped to Hulor’s ear.

“...but your ancestors are dead,” BONESAW commented at the end.
”Yes,” Hulor said. ”Of course. They lived long before our time."
“And yet they hunt with you?” BONESAW asked.
”Naturally," Hulor said.
“Like, their spirits,” BONESAW said, “or their souls, their…ghosts?”
”No," Hulor said. "They are still with us. You use the signs the False Gods invented for things that do not exist."
“...yeah, I don’t get it,” BONESAW said.
”If you took the sharpest knife," Hulor explained, ”could you cut the spirit out of a person? If you weighed a living person and killed them and weighed them again, would the difference be the weight of their soul? You cannot split up a person in such a way. Perhaps the False Gods are this way, but we are not. We are the people, even before we are born and after we die, forever. And our songs help us remember that." He paused. "The only ghosts I ever met are your people."
“Huh,” BONESAW said. “When you put it that way…”
Hulor smiled. "That is why we will overcome the False Gods," he said. "Even in death we fight with our sisters and brothers. Where one of us plants their feet, we all make a stand."

Hulor winced at the changing pitch of the engines that foretold its descent for landing. With quick moves, he shut down the vox connection and deposited the small device in one of the team’s backpacks. In its hardcase, BONESAW powered down to minimum. Soon enough, the craft had landed and the cargo doors opened. Blinking against the low mountain sun, Hulor emerged, slinging the better half of the team’s luggage over his hump and hefting the other two suitcases in his hands.

“Ah, there you are, Vaaj,” came Dor’s voice as soon as he emerged from the craft. Hulor turned to look at his newest teammate, screeching out his false name in her affected noblewoman voice. “Did you have a nice little nap?”
Hulor bowed his head. “Yes, Mistress,” he croaked.
“Good,” Dor said. “Then hurry up with our luggage. We’re late enough as is.”
“Yes, Mistress,” Hulor repeated.

He drew a few weird glances from the resort staff as he crossed the landing pad, but fortunately, the nobles on the flight had had ample occasion to notice and then ignore him at the gateport. This secret agent thing wasn’t so hard, he thought; just keep your head down and wait for the warmaster’s sign.

“Vaaj,” came a man’s voice from the side. Hulor froze in his path. “That’s a human name, isn’t it.” Hulor stayed where he was and bowed his head deeper. He caught a glimpse of the speaker’s scarred-over face doing so. “What’s a beast like you doing with a perfectly good name like that, huh?” Mauon asked, stepping closer and daring Hulor to back away from him. “Huh?”
“Sorry, Master,” Hulor said. He didn’t know what use it was to apologize for things that were clearly not his fault - insofar as they were even wrong - but he’d been told that if he made himself small and kept apologizing, he’d do exactly what one of the house servants would do. Wouldn’t stick out at all.
“I asked you a question, beast,” Mauon said. “And if you’re good enough for a name you had better be good enough to have an answer.”
“...sorry, Master,” Hulor repeated.
“Looks like you don’t, so you’re not,” Mauon said. He was close now, leaned forward far enough that his head was next to bent-over Hulor’s. “And when’d you have the time to get so big, beast?” Mauon continued. “Do you fight? You look it. So what are you doing here?”
“Vaaj?” Dor called. Hulor turned to look at her. “Vaaj! Stop wasting that man’s time! Get on with it!”
“Yes, Mistress,” Hulor whined. He turned back to Mauon. “Sorry, Master,” he said. “Mistress commands.” He straightened up. At this Mauon suddenly launched forward into a fall-step; Hulor instinctually evaded him with a side step. “Sorry, Master,” Hulor said once again, then hurried off to follow the other servants and resort staff handling the luggage.

Mauon looked after Hulor. He’d seen this type of beast before. Not your regular house servant, not a domestic breed at all - no, that was warrior tribute straight from Whirr. How had he made his way into the employ of nobles and not as a bodyguard?

“I’ll thank you not to hassle my servant,” Dor said, stepping closer to Mauon. “He’s here to work, not chat.”
“You gave it a name?” Mauon asked, not turning to look at her.
“...of course,” Dor said. “Should I bark for him? Servants are only useful if they know when you’re calling them.”
At this, Mauon turned to look at her. Scanned her top to bottom with a glance. “Quite, Ma’am,” he said. “You get it right off the market?”
“...yes,” Dor said. “He was the most vigorous of the lot.”
“Well, Ma’am,” Mauon said, “you know you bought yourself a killer, right?” He smirked. “Beast like that, you don’t let that into your house. It’s all Yes and Sorry now, but you know it’s just biding its time until it can tear out your throat and make a run for it.”
“I’ll take your opinion under advisement,” Dor said. “Now, if that’s all?”

At this, Ita approached. Her armor gleamed even stronger than before under the setting sun.

“Something the issue here, Mauon?” Ita asked.
“Just having a chat, getting to know the new arrivals,” Mauon answered. “Sauni Viis, was it?”
“Would that your manners were as excellent as your ears, Sir,” Dor said, then turned to Ita. “Is that how we are to be greeted here? I leave my holdings for one trip and right away, to be accosted by you - what even are you? You’re not Kansat, are you?”
“No, Ma’am,” Ita said. “Khiraba on special duty. We are here at the Steward’s personal request to see to the security of the resort.”
“...Khiraba?” Dor said. “I…know I shouldn’t ask, but -”
“Nothing that you need to concern yourself with, Ma’am,” Ita said. “If we should have occasion to call on you, we will let you know. Otherwise, please do not pay us any mind at all.”
“I see,” Dor said. “I…well, you won’t have any trouble from us, I can assure you.”
“The Steward regrets the inconvenience,” Ita said. “And our duties do call us away now. A good day to you, Ma’am.”
“Yes, yes,” Dor said. She looked at Mauon, and Mauon smiled down at her.
“Have a nice stay, Ma’am,” he said.

---

“Could’ve gone worse,” Deungjeong commented.

He and Marta had managed to split from the large stream of guests heading directly to the lodges and were now alone on a direct path to the resort’s ‘village marketplace’ section, where charmingly tiny stores in passably-disguised prefab hab modules sold overpriced nonsense.

“The profile on Mauon didn’t do him justice,” Marta said. “For a moment there -”
“We got through it fine,” Deungjeong said. “So, thumbs up on Dor?”
“She’s got Bello’s blessings, that ought to be good enough for anyone,” Marta said. “...you’re not asking if we should have left her behind, are you?”
“Just an honest assessment,” Deungjeong said. “I think the biggest doubts were her own. But she’s doing fine, so far.”
“Yeah, I’m not worried about her,” Marta said. “I’m worried about us when she’s not there to save our asses.”
“We’ll manage,” Deungjeong said. “The cover’s solid, we just have to keep playing it.”
“I don’t know how long we can keep it up,” Marta said.
“It’ll have to be long enough,” Deungjeong said.

Further argument was forestalled when they clocked an actual Other Person in the vicinity; she was on the way out of the resort’s sporting goods store with a brand-new snowboard rested over her shoulder.

“‘Sup?” the snowboarder greeted them.
“Hello,” Marta said.
“You new?” the snowboarder continued. She was now actively in the way of Deungjeong and Marta, not with any obvious intent, but still.
“Yes,” Deungjeong said.
“And?” the snowboarder continued.
Marta jumped on the grenade. “Oh, this is my betrothed, Toest Viis,” she said. “I am Zasaba Soon-To-Be-Viis. Are you staying here as well?”
“Heh,” the snowboarder said, letting their long black hair sweep over their shoulders as they flexed their neck with an audible crack. “You could say that. Name’s Manaj. Khiraba Manaj Akest.”
“Oh,” Deungjeong said. “Oh! Khiraba? …why are you here?”
“Toest!” Marta chided him.
“Sorry,” Deungjeong said. “I’m sure you…you have your reasons.” He tried to deaden his expression and flatten his affect. The condescending smile on Manaj’s face told him he was on the right track with his dullard noble impression.
“Right now, just looking to shred some pow-pow after duty,” Manaj said. “Nice slopes here. Not too many gapers yet.”
“...right,” Deungjeong said. “Well, if will excuse us -”
“Crunchy,” Manaj said. “I’ll see you when I see you.”
“Actually,” Marta said, “I hate to pry, but I would feel better if I knew what exactly is going on here. It’s not every day we meet a Steward…or a Khiraba.”
“Get used to it,” Manaj said. “We’re going nowhere fast. Not until we smoke out those rebels.”
“Rebels!” Deungjeong said. “Zasaba, did you hear that, there are rebels -”
“You heard nothing,” Manaj said. “Not from me. Listen, just do your thing and stay out of our way. Everything’s gonna be a-okay, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Deungjeong said, putting on a broad smile. “I mean, yes, of course.”

Marta rolled her eyes to Manaj, who favored her with an understated nod. As they trudged off,
they heard Marta and Deungjeong continue the discussion in hushed tones.

“Nobody told us about rebels and Khiraba!” Deungjeong hissed. “Nobody told me! Zasaba, did you know -”
“It’s taken care of!” Marta replied. “Worry about impressing your aunt instead!”
“But nothing I do is ever good enough for her,” Deungjeong whined.
“I’ve got it under control,” Marta said. “Just follow my lead and it will all be fine.”
“Yes, Zasaba,” Deungjeong said.

Ah, nobles, Manaj thought as she trudged off through the light dusting of snow. Fuck ‘em.

III - Is ‘Fiasco’ Even A Genre

---

“And that’s the signal, they dropped the message,” BONESAW said, its server unpacked in the lodge’s sublevel storage where it had already come to a passable truce with the lodge’s security and surveillance systems, i.e. looped and spoofed them. Hulor was still busying himself with the luggage. He had spotted a few mats and spare blankets in the utility closets here to improvise a nest with, and while the storage wasn’t heated, that suited Hulor as well. He had always slept better on the cold plains of his youth than the damp forests his hunts had taken him into.

"How often do the operatives check this ‘dead drop’?" Hulor asked, shifting aside the false bottom of the equipment case to check on his smuggled-in weapons. Nothing much, and particularly nothing noisy or liable to pop on a weapons scanner - but it would do for a bit of light sport.
“Beats me,” BONESAW commented. “Briefing said every two days or so, but, like, they don’t have fixed hours, yeah? Would make them too predictable.”
"They should have just given us pictures," Hulor mused.
“Yeah,” BONESAW said. “You know, if we had pictures, if we had names, we could find them at the reception, grab them from their beds tonight and work our way down the mountains. We’d be long gone before daylight.”
"You do remember that one of them died trying that?" Hulor said.
“The drawbacks of having bones to break,” BONESAW said. “Anyway, odds are they’ll be doing an aerial sweep with the Manta every night for the foreseeable future. So that’s a bummer. Now if we’re talking about shooting down that Manta -”
"That would get rather loud," Hulor mused. "And we did not pack the weapons needed for that, anyway."
“Sure,” BONESAW said. “Would be pretty sick, though. Provided we still make exfil.”
"We will do as the warmaster has decided," Hulor said.
“Yeah,” BONESAW said. “Yeah, sure. Just trying to have a Plan C, you know?”
"Arrows care not where the bow is aimed," Hulor said. "Let us focus on executing the plan we do have correctly."
“You’re such a square,” BONESAW said. Realizing Hulor’s sideways glance, it hastened to add “And that’s cool, you know, too many mavericks trying to get on those teams that don’t know their lane. I’m really good at following orders, too, you know.”

Hulor just smiled and went back to unpacking.

“Perimeter movement,” BONESAW said. “...fuck, I got that ass from earlier on the outer cameras, he’s coming right down here!”

Hulor didn’t need more of an invitation than that. Quickly, he replaced the false bottom of the equipment case and stripped the vox from his ear again. A blanket tossed over BONESAW’s server would have to do for a quick disguise - and not a moment too soon, as the door creaked open just then. Hulor turned to look at Mauon enter, but then quickly averted his eyes again and stuffed his hands into the case, pretending to unpack it.

“There you are,” Mauon said. “Vaaj, right?”
“Yes, Master,” Hulor said.
“We never did get to finish our conversation,” Mauon said, stepping closer. “Not that you had much to say, as I recall. Kinda funny, don’t you think? I mean, I know you beasts aren’t much for thinking, but a house servant, they’re usually a bit better at it. Yeah?”
“Sorry, Master,” Hulor said. How much of his - admittedly sparse - Naranai’i was safe to show off now? “I am new.”
“And earned yourself a name just like that?” Mauon said. “I just don’t get it.” He stepped closer. Hulor didn’t miss the knife that Mauon was now weighing in his left hand. “I just don’t get what your deal is, beast, and that really bothers me, you know?”
“...sorry, Master,” Hulor repeated.
“You’re not just new, you’re lazy, too,” Mauon said. “Even a stupid beast like you should be done unpacking all this shit by now, don’t you think?” He stepped closer still, so close that Hulor actually stepped out of his way and backed up. “Maybe it’s difficult. I mean, I’d understand if it was difficult for you. All these different clothes, that’s got to be confusing for a naked savage. Surprised you don’t still have the Chosen chalk on you.”

Hulor bowed deeper, but old instinct readied the claws on his right hand. It was easy to read Mauon; he was strong and swift, for a human, but that had swelled his confidence past his competence. Three seconds, Hulor thought to himself. If he chose to fight.

“Ah, see,” Mauon said, tossing his knife to his right hand. “That, I understand. ‘Vaaj’ still knows it has claws. If I was your master, I’d have them pulled right along with those chompers of yours. Save us all the trouble of you getting any funny ideas.”

He stepped closer yet, and now Hulor was literally against the wall with no way to shrink further away from Mauon. Mauon said nothing more, just grinned as he reached under his shirt and produced a neck chain with a half dozen Wherren tusks dangling from it. Hulor’s blood cooled, if anything. Not that it wouldn’t be fun…but he was looking down at a bully, not a threat.

“You see this, beast?” Mauon said. “Means I’m not scared of the likes of you. Means I know how you are. And your friends here all found out, that if you mess with me…I’ll kill you dead.” He pushed his knife against Hulor’s muzzle, letting it ride over top, almost to Hulor’s eyes. Hulor didn’t flinch. “Good,” Mauon said. “Good. You can at least pretend to know your place. That’s the start.”

He withdrew the knife and stepped away.

“Yes, Master,” Hulor whined.
“But, you know,” Mauon said, turning in place, “maybe it’s not enough.”

Mauon spun around in a flash, knife already striking out at what he expected to be Hulor’s charge. There were just two flaws in Mauon’s plan, then. The first was that Hulor wasn’t charging him, was still in his place, had weighed Mauon’s incoming strike and found it beneath contempt. But Mauon could adjust for that; he’d just to strike a step farther, and if the beast really didn’t fight back…well, it would, enough to make this self-defense, anyway. They were stupid like that, Mauon knew. The second flaw in Mauon’s plan, however, was more serious. He hadn’t noticed the Sheen saboteur shell crawl out of the equipment case he had scared Hulor away from. And by the time he felt its small metal feet scurrying up the back of his armor with rather alarming speed, it was too late. The shell’s captive blade shot forward from its housing, piercing 2/3rds of the way through Mauon’s neck. A perfect strike, severing his airway, his left carotid artery and left jugular vein all in one stroke. Mauon barely had time to swat the shell away or clamp his free hand over the wound before he fell to his knees. He lasted for a few seconds of gargling before he tipped over and collapsed to the floor, blood gushing from the wound as his adrenaline-soaked heart pumped with its last, desperate beats.

“Hulor!” BONESAW called from both the server and the shell in stereo, before settling on only the shell. “Hulor!”
"I am fine," Hulor said. He stood up straight.
“You can’t just freeze up like that!” BONESAW said. “He was gonna stab you!”
"Yes," Hulor said. "I saw that."
“Then what the frag were you waiting for?” BONESAW asked. Its shell scuttled around the body, avoiding the growing lake of blood.
"I was doing what my cover identity should have done," Hulor said. "I read his strike off his shoulders. He was out for blood, not death. I was ready to endure it. And maybe if he’d gotten his blood, he might have left us alone."
“...okay, that would have been pretty badass,” BONESAW admitted. “But, uh, not a chance you’re gonna take, yeah? At least not when I’m around. I don’t even have a heart and it still stopped.” It skittered around the body again. “Listen, I trust you know what you’re doing, but…if it looks like it’s us or them, it’s gotta be us, cover or no cover. Promise me you’re gonna fight the next asshole trying to kill you, yeah?”
Hulor nodded. "Perhaps you are correct, and either way I am grateful for your help, BONESAW," he said. "But now we have a dead Khiraba killed by a Sheen weapon at our feet. This will not help our mission."
“Oh,” BONESAW said. Its shell skittered over to another corner, then back towards the equipment case. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s not good.”
"The warmaster will know what to do now," Hulor said.

---

“Well,” Deungjeong said, “that’s not good.”

He was crouched above Mauon’s corpse, by now gathered up onto a tarp. BONESAW’s shell scurried frantically around the scene, sucking up blood and flash-cooking it. The rear of its shell produced a steady stream of Forbidden Cookies, the compacted and burned-beyond-recognition soluble blood components, accompanied by a steady stream of water mist. The process made the storage room smell like the galaxy’s boggiest swamp.

“Can’t you do the same with the body?” Marta asked. She was all the way at the entrance, which was more than close enough to the corpse for her taste.
“Sure,” BONESAW said. “First you strip the meat and offal, cut into three-inch pieces, blend those into a shake. Would take me a couple of hours to get through the lot. The bones and teeth, though -”
Marta expressed her disapproval of that detail with a sour belch, caught just in time between her hands.
“Well, excuse me,” BONESAW said. “Whose fault is it that organic bodies are so disgusting?”
“Okay, that’s our Plan…Z,” Deungjeong said. He looked over his shoulder to Dor, who was leaning against a stray piece of oversize luggage and staring off into nowhere. She had a new handbag with her - clearly taking advantage of the expense account here. “What about chemicals? Like an acid bath. Anything we can improvise quickly?” Deungjeong asked. “Dor?” he added.
“...I don’t know,” she admitted.
“Well, that goes triple for me, that’s why I’m asking you,” Deungjeong said. “We could really use some chemistry right now.”
“Not my type of chemistry,” Dor said, then pinched her nose.
”I have a suggestion,” Hulor said.
“I’m listening,” Deungjeong said.
“Lizardwolves,” the Wherren warrior said.
“...not on my packing list,” Deungjeong said. “You think there are wild ones around here?”
”No, but according to Marta’s briefing, some were brought here for sport hunting,” Hulor said. ”They rend meat and suck up blood, and they are not picky about their food sources. If we can lure them to the body, they will strip it down clean enough to mask the cause of death.”
“How do you lure them?” Dor asked.
”Something smelly and sweet,” Hulor said.
“...okay, that’s household items chemistry I can handle,” Dor said. “You prep the body, I’ll mix up the lure and with any luck the lizardwolves find the body before anyone else does.”
“And if they don’t?” Marta asked.
“Then we’ll still have dumped the body in a hard-to-find place,” Dor said. “So, ‘smelly’, are we talking bird feces, rot, vomit -”
“I’ll…get ready for the reception,” Marta said, making for the door.
“Yeah, okay,” Deungjeong said. “We’re right behind you.” As soon as she was out, he turned back to Dor. “Of course, that still won’t help if the lizardwolves don’t show up.”
“I didn’t hear any better ideas,” Dor countered.
“Hrm,” Deungjeong said. “Okay, we’ll go with that, then. Dor, mix up whatever Hulor tells you. Hulor, you’re on body disposal. Pick out a good spot up the mountain that’s clear of the surveillance but not so far it’s a hike."
"Yes, warmaster," Hulor said.
“BONESAW, you monitor the grid from here, see to it that Hulor’s not disturbed,” Deungjeong said. “And can you…bag some of that blood for him?”
“Sure,” BONESAW said.
Deungjeong shook his head. “At least that’s one less headache,” he mused.


---

“This is a complete disaster!” Steward Mausa cried out.

The half-dozen kitchen staff on duty hung their heads with the expected amount of contrition, while the patisserie chef stalked behind Mausa’s march here and fro through the kitchen, trying to get in a word edgewise. Meanwhile, Ita stood near the exit to the grand hall and its waiting new guests, looking just about ready to explode out of her parade-polished uniform.

“I said we needed more spiceberry liquor, didn’t I?” Mausa continued. “We can’t very well make spiceberry liquor trifle cups without spiceberry liquor, can we? I don’t know, maybe we can, I don’t bake them, I just promise them!” He walked up to one of the servants. “Look at me when I’m talking to you! What are you serving with those tears? Because right now we’ve got fuck-all-else to show!”
“Steward,” the patisserie chef suggested while Mausa caught his breath, “we could finish them with the brandy -”
“Oh, of course,” Mausa said, “the brandy that costs more per case than the lats I wasted hiring your entire miserable crew! The brandy we’re serving for the Throne’s jubilee tomorrow! That brandy, you imbecile?”
“Steward -” the patisserie chef tried again.
“Steward,” Ita finally cut in. Her voice came through clear enough that the whole kitchen fell quiet. “We will serve the trifles without the liquor. We have plenty of fruit to go on top for a bit of color instead. If you have to explain it, tell your guests that I held up the liquor shipment over irregularities with the load manifest. You know, security issues.”
“But then it won’t be -” Mausa started.
“Vidas fucking Lam,” Ita said. “I don’t care what it won’t be. Every minute you spend here shouting is another minute that your staff can’t work and your guests can’t eat.”
“...yes,” Mausa admitted. “Yes, of course, you’re right.”
“Then get out there and entertain your guests, Steward,” Ita said. “I’ll sort out the logistics here.”
“I need you for the -” Mausa began.
“I’ll be there for the damn speech,” Ita cut him off. “Go.”

Mausa didn’t even nod. Instead he took a deep breath, tussled his hair a bit and then plastered on a big smile. Once he was out into the hall, there was only a muffled echo of him calling “My friends -” before the door swung closed again. At this, finally, the staff let out their breaths.

“Thank you,” the patisserie chef said. “Sometimes he really -”
“I know,” Ita said. “Knowing him, you have two minutes to get the first batch out of the door.” She stepped closer to him. “I stuck my neck out for you, because I want this reception to be perfect. Don’t fuck this up.”
“...no, of course not,” the chef said.
Ita smiled. “Great!” she said sweetly. “Thank you for your hard work.”

Ita then left the kitchen crew to their work and made for the service exit. She realized she’d almost stooped to Mausa’s level trying to sort out his fuckup, which he could own or blame on her for all that she cared; she guessed that he had just forgotten to order the liquor, had dropped one of the hundred balls he insisted on juggling himself. If anything, the staff had every right to be mad at him, but of course things didn’t work that way here. Shit always flowed downhill. And what did Mausa, that fat scrofa, know about honor, duty and accountability? Ita snorted. Was it really so much to ask that everyone do their part? Why did she always have to be the caretaker in everyone else’s primary academy? Of course, it was then that she spotted Ngroni Kaurusaa out back, where she wasn’t supposed to be. She was dressed up as waitstaff, was supposed to be in the crowd, mingling and picking up some HUMINT.

“Is everything all right?” Ngroni cooed; Ita brushed past her, evading the hug. “I heard shouting. I just…wanted to make sure you’re okay, Ita.”
“I’m fine,” Ita said, not turning to look at her. “Everything is fine.” She paused. “The Steward’s an idiot, but everything else is fine.” Another snort. “What’d you get out of Briros’s bodyguards?”
“Nothing we didn’t already know,” Ngroni said. “Seasonal staff hired on as a serving girl, she made big eyes at Briros the evening of, they insisted they searched her before they left her alone with him.”
“Right,” Ita said. “And the strangulation marks on her neck?”
“...they didn’t know anything about that,” Ngroni said.
“Spinkshit,” Ita said.
“It doesn’t really matter, does it, Ita?” Ngroni said. She came closer now, and Ita let her, didn’t fight back when Ngroni embraced her from behind and rested her head on the back of the polished carapace.
“What if it does,” Ita said. “What if Briros had a history, what if this was a targeted killing, what if that rebel scum is going after the whole clan?”
“Mmh,” Ngroni said. “What does that imply, though?”
“Do you really want me to walk you through that?” Ita said.
“I just want to hear your voice a bit more,” Ngroni said. She swayed side to side. “We’ve both been awfully lonely since -”
“Enough,” Ita said. Ngroni didn’t let go, though, so Ita softly grabbed her by the wrists and pulled the bearhug off herself. “Enough, ‘roni. We’re on the job here.”
“We’re always on the job,” Ngroni countered, with a slight pout.
“Yes,” Ita said. Her vox chimed in her ear. “That’s exactly why we can’t afford this,” she continued. Letting go of Ngroni’s wrists, she then walked off and was glad, in a way, that Ngroni didn’t follow, didn’t push the issue like she usually did. “Get back in there,” she called over her shoulder to Ngroni. “I’ll be right in.”

Ngroni gave her one of her cute little nods and then sped back in. She’d do a good job, Ita mused, if only to try to prove her values to Ita. Vidas Lam, what a lost little soul. She tapped the vox.

“Harsa, this had better be good,” Ita growled.
“It’s not,” Harsa said. “I just tried to check on Mauon, you know, help him with where the sword goes on the carapace, the little details he can’t be expected to retain. However, he left his vox in his room. Couldn’t find him anywhere. Is he with you?”
“...he’s not,” Ita said. “Have you told anyone else?”
“Of course not,” Harsa said. “I, for one, don’t particularly miss his company, if I am to be frank.”
“You are not to be anything but an actual part of this team,” Ita said. “Now listen to me very closely, Harsa. I am in command here, and if by some miracle you have mistaken my continuing graciousness for a license to be insubordinate, then this is your last chance to correct that mistake. Figure out where he went and get him.”
“Then I can stop dressing up for the ball, I take it?” Harsa replied.

He wants this, Ita told herself. Do not give him the satisfaction.

“Find Mauon,” Ita said. “I don’t care how, figure it out. And do not call me again until you do. Am I understood?”
“Perfectly,” Harsa replied. “I will let you know which bar he was under.”
“See that you do,” Ita said.

---

“My dear friends!” Mausa shouted, cutting through the din of the grand dining room in a hurry. He put on a smile and raised his hands, as if anyone at the reception didn’t already know it was time for the speeches. “Please do excuse my tardiness!” he added, his look sweeping the room. “Would that I could focus all my efforts on being a good host to you, especially tonight when I have asked all of you to join me so that I might get to welcome you all with the care and comfort you deserve. And yet, I find myself running late. Truly, I tell you, a Steward is the lowest servant of their planet, driven here and there without cease and sadly, so rarely on time for the events he most looks forward to. I therefore regret to inform you that my very well-written and highly informative fifteen-minute presentation on the resort’s history and its natural splendor will have to be stricken from tonight’s agenda!”

The room was again split into thirds: stone-faced silence, which Mausa duly ignored, polite chuckles, which Mausa acknowledged, and a low, semi-ironic “ohhhh” that he subtly signed to rise in volume.

“I know, I know!” Mausa cried. “As an apology, and to pay homage to our humble beginnings, the kitchen is most delighted to serve you tonight a light appetizer straight from the very first menu ever prepared in these facilities, more than sixty-seven years ago!” He clapped his hands together, cueing the lighting in the room to lower. “My dear friends, I present to you - the Paradise Trifle!”

To polite applause, the doors to the kitchen opened again, and a swarm of servants went forth, carrying bronzed trays of tall cups filled with layers of cake, cream and assorted fruits, each topped with delicate drizzles of honey.

“Please, my friends, do not miss out on this humble delicacy!” Mausa said, darting from throng to throng as if to make sure that not a single cup ever ran the danger of being sent back. “And please do remain standing; my very good friend Ita Raa will shortly introduce herself and her team.”

Off in a corner, Dor and Marta stood. Just one perspective wasn’t going to be optimal for scanning the crowd, but this wasn’t the time to do anything that might get them more attention. Deungjeong was just then turning away from one of the servants, managing to balance three cups in his hands even as he weaved through the crowd. For someone nominally responsible for a corpse getting dragged uphill through the encroaching darkness outside, he made a good show of only being worried about dropping his food down someone’s dress.

“Over here!” Dor called to him. Marta and her took their designated cups off Deungjeong’s hands, but Dor’s eyes were on the latest arrival: Ita Raa, resplendent as ever in her polished armor. She was still off to the side, waiting for the spotlight to move from Mausa to her. Dor looked away just in time to avoid meeting Ita’s own gaze scanning the room.
“So,” Marta asked, “do we eat those, or -”
“Wait for the speech,” Dor said.
“What exactly is in a Paradise, anyway?” Deungjeong managed to squeeze in, just before Mausa’s voice - now carried by the room’s speakers on top of his natural booming volume - cut through the room again.
“Dear friends,” he called, “without further ado, Ita Raa of the Khiraba!”

The room seemed almost perfectly quiet then, as the spotlight wandered to Ita, standing at ease like nothing within a hundred miles could touch her. Whatever the nobles assembled here might have thought about the Khiraba in general, it was understood that saying it within earshot of one was not a smart move.

“Thank you for your kind introduction, Steward,” Ita said. Her voice wasn’t nearly as bombastic as Mausa’s, but cut through the whole room just the same. She let her eyes sweep across the crowd for a moment. “I regret to inform you all that this resort is currently operating at a heightened level of security due to indicators of rebel activity. I would like to reassure you that you are in no danger, that everything is fine and that you will barely notice us as you go about your days. I would like to say that. But duty and honor compel me to speak the plain, unvarnished truth: there is danger about here. My team and I will do anything and everything to vanquish this danger as quickly as possible. We are here at the request of the Steward and with the full backing of the Throne. If we seem short or harsh in our dealings with you, if our investigation and security measures inconvenience you, if we might even have to briefly detain you - please be assured that all this is in the service of protecting you. The rebels came here thinking they would find us at our weakest and most careless. I fully intend to make them pay for that mistake. The sacrifices I am asking you to make will not be in vain. We will find these gutless traitors and deliver unto them the swift justice that the Emperor requires! And that is a promise you can count on.”

By means unknown, an already quiet room had gotten much, much quieter still over the course of Ita’s speech. She let her gaze sweep the crowd once more, satisfied that everyone was looking at her.

“Thank you,” she said. “You may now go about your business.”
“...Ita Raa!” Mausa called from the side. With a quick sign to the staff, light music started piping through the room’s speakers. He rushed back onto the stage, drawing her from a handshake before she could flee. “The very picture of duty, as ever!” he added. “And I’m sure we all appreciate being in safe hands with her and her team! What do you say we give her three cheers, yes?”

“...hooray,” Marta joined in with the crowd on the second cheer. “Hooray!” she cried, loud enough for the third one.
“Look at her,” Dor grumbled. “What are we cheering her for?”
“What indeed,” came a male voice from the side.

Dor and Deungjeong snapped their heads to track the voice as Marta ducked away. Standing there was Harsa Iaron, decked out in a fine suit, his face accentuated with pale blue makeup highlights. The sword hanging from a baldric stretched over his chest betrayed him as one of the Khiraba to anyone who might have been confused by his other style choices.

“Harsa Iaron,” he said, extending a hand to Dor while he bowed over a few degrees. “Lady Sauna Viis, if I am not mistaken?”
Dor shook Harsa’s hand, trying very hard not to tense up. “You are not,” she said. “My nephew and his betrothed,” she said, indicating Deungjeong and Marta.
“I gathered as much at the landing pad,” Harsa said with a smile. “I am not nearly as talented as I would like to be, in many regards, but I do pride myself on a memory for names and faces.”
“That must be useful, in your line of work,” Dor said, a bit too much venom on the last word.
“Now and then,” Harsa said. “Mostly I just do as I’m told. Dear Ita is everything one could ask for in a leader, though I worry she might have oversold the situation. When I heard you speak of her -”
“I meant no insult to her or any of you,” Dor said.
“Oh, yours were among the kindest comments still,” Harsa said with a half-laugh. “Do not fret, Lady Viis. We are used to much worse, in our line of work.”

“Harsa!” Ita called, approaching the conversation now as well. Deungjeong’s heart picked up the pace. Their nice little group off to the side of the festivities was quickly turning into a close encounter of the Khiraba kind. “I thought you were working elsewhere,” Ita hissed, her teeth squeezed so tight none of the bad words could escape.
“I traded off with Valoon,” Harsa said with a grin. “They’re much more suited to the task. We did just discuss the importance of delegation, did we not?” He turned away from Ita’s silent fuming and favored Marta with his smile. “If you couldn’t tell, I have apprenticed myself to Ita in the arts of leadership. I do hope that one day I might be granted the opportunity to lead my own team.”
“I’m sure you would enjoy that,” Ita said. She turned to Deungjeong and her eyes fell on his half-empty cup. “How’s the trifle?”
“Good,” Deungjeong said.
“You like the fruit?” Ita asked.
“Yes,” Deungjeong said.
“My suggestion,” Ita said.
“You do have the best ideas,” Harsa cut in. “But I think we’re overstaying our welcome here. We have a lot more guests to meet tonight, don’t we?”
Ita’s eyes remained on Deungjeong. “We do,” she said. “If you notice anything out of the ordinary during your stay,” she added, “find one of us at once.”
“Will do,” Deungjeong said.

Ita gave him one final once-over, then a nod. With a swift pivot on her heel, she marched off to join the next group of nobles.

“It was lovely to meet you all,” Harsa said. “Perhaps you would join me for lunch -”
“Harsa,” Ita hissed from behind him. “On me.”
“Oh dear,” Harsa said. “Duty calls! A good evening to you.”

With that, he finally left, trailing behind Ita, eyes darting from side to side as if to look for more trouble to stir up.

“Everybody still have all their fingers?” Marta asked quietly.
“We’re leaving,” Dor said.
“A bit early to punch out,” Deungjeong cautioned. “And the trifles are good.”
“I’m not hungry,” Dor said. Without further words, she walked off.
“Hey -” Marta tried.
“I’ll go with her,” Deungjeong said. “You…mingle.”
“Okay,” Marta said.

She watched Deungjeong catch up with Dor, watched them walk to the balcony doors and head outside, presumably to enjoy the last scattered rays of evening sun. Then she glanced down at the cup in her hand, hardly touched. A servant passed her by; she placed the cup on his half-full tray.

“Mingle,” she told herself. “Alright. Let’s meet some people.”

---

“Can I ask you a question?” BONESAW chirped in Hulor’s ear.

Hulor grunted in the affirmative on his quiet journey through the equally quiet outskirts of the resort. While seemingly everyone else was off at the fancy reception dinner, he was schlepping an oversized sports bag, hastily stripped off the actual sports equipment they had brought with them and now containing the plastic-wrapped body of Mauon. Hulor second-guessed himself again on keeping the body intact; surely a tumble down the slopes would’ve explained a few broken bones and dislocated limbs, making the corpse easier to carry and providing an obvious cause of death, but this was already a big enough mess on its own and he wasn’t sure whether elaborate staging wouldn’t just make the death look even more suspicious. It was a frustrating state of affairs. Clearly killing his enemies quickly and quietly was not enough; he’d have to study up on how to spoil forensic investigations as well. After all, he couldn’t expect to do all his work within walking distance of roving packs of hungry scavengers.

“Do you think this will work?” BONESAW asked him.
”Yes,” Hulor answered. ”When you have done everything you can do to prepare, you must maintain faith in your plan.”
“Right,” BONESAW said. “I’m sorry about earlier.”
”You acted to protect me,” Hulor said.
“No, not the kill,” BONESAW said. “Arguing with you after. I just felt like we were…out of step on that one.” It paused. “And I was afraid of my friend getting hurt.”
Hulor chuffed. ”For that, you never have to apologize,” he said. ”Can I ask you a question in return?”
“Yeah,” BONESAW said. “Yeah, sure.”

Hulor’s feet were off the well-trodden footpaths now; he followed the glint of the icy snow on the way up. It was more slippery than the fresher powder, certainly, but he hoped it would leave less obvious footprints. By BONESAW’s calculations, the patrolling Manta now over the south slopes would pass overhead in ten minutes or so. Enough time for the heat to bleed away into the ice, but tracks on naked ground might still show. His nose perked up at the smells blowing on the downslope winds. Many were unfamiliar, but even this close to the human settlements, he could make out the distinct sour musk of lizardwolves. He smiled, finding his faith rewarded.

”You were not created for 81X,” Hulor said, ”so how did you qualify?”
“My evaluation at the exercise,” BONESAW answered. “And I applied. I passed the tests. No big secret.”
”Well, you are different from the other Sheen I have met,” Hulor mused. ”You are quieter.”
“...yeah, I guess,” BONESAW said.
”I understand,” Hulor said.
“Comes with the shell, you know?” BONESAW said. “When you’re riding a combat shell, it feels like you’re faster than everyone, tougher than everyone, you have all that firepower…but right now, I’m not feeling particularly big.” It paused. “I thought it’d be a challenge. Now I just hope we can finish this quietly. Because I know that…like this…I’m not much use.”
”Hacking the resort’s surveillance system is very useful,” Hulor countered.
“Yeah, pass,” BONESAW said. “I could do that from standby mode. Those Narana’i cogitator systems don’t deserve the name, they’re banging digital rocks together. Any Sheen could do that.” It paused again. “And I don’t want to be any Sheen.”
”But you’re here, not any Sheen,” Hulor said. ”You’re doing it, and you’re doing it well. You got the team’s first confirmed kill, too. Anyone who does not recognize your contribution to this mission is a fool.”
BONESAW chuckled. “You’re calling me a fool?” it said.
”Yes,” Hulor said. ”But I want to help you feel not left out, too. So next time, I will kill the Khiraba and you can drag their body into the woods.”
“Deal,” BONESAW said.

---

The fresh air wasn’t helping, Dor thought. It was too cold and above all too wet out here, not at all like the constant recycled breeze on Atea. She kept it together the whole way outside across the terrace to the viewing gallery, didn’t stumble about, didn’t rush, didn’t give herself away in any detail. She’d been trained too well for that.

But Vidas fucking Lam. How long had it taken for this to go off the rails? Just a few hours from Go to Shit. Deungjeong was a few paces behind her, would be coming up any second now to reassure her that things were still well in hand. She hadn’t met that many Narsai’i but she already wondered if they were all like that or he was just exceptionally optimistic even for them.

“Are you all right?” he asked from behind her.
Dor rested herself on the handrail and stared down into the dark valley beneath the platform. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” She looked to each side, gauging who might hear them and with it how guarded she had to be.
“Are the Khiraba going to be a problem?” Deungjeong asked her. As he spoke, he still spooned bits of the Paradise trifle into his mouth. His tone was casual, as if telling her that the sweet-spicy spink was out and would she mind if he brought her a serving with Aikoro Herb Rub instead? “If you can’t be close to them, I understand, but I need to know now.”
“I said I’ll be fine,” Dor said. “Really.” She sighed. “More than I can say for our plan.”
“Eh,” Deungjeong said. “Tightened our deadline but doesn’t really change anything. Plus, we now have two more names. We’ll check the drop tomorrow, see if we can make contact.” He shrugged. “Let’s just get through this evening.”
“Yes,” Dor said. “I think…it’ll be fine if I’m not enamored with the Khiraba. As Sauna, I mean. But I can tone it down, if you think that’s better.”
“Nah,” Deungjeong said. “It’d draw more attention if you changed your tune without good reason. Keep it up. I’ll play along.”
“Good,” Dor said. She sucked in another breath. “I have a bad feeling about Harsa.”
“Same,” Deungjeong said. “He’s playing games. With or against whom, that’s the question. But he’s not as smart as he thinks he is.”
“Hrm,” Dor said. “How do you figure that?”
Deungjeong smiled. “Nobody is,” he said. He held up the now empty trifle cup like an invitation. “You coming?”

IV - Someone With Brains

---

It was deathly quiet within the Imperial Suite of the resort, lights dimmed to 10% and the climate controls dialed down to the barest whisper. What was ordinarily billed as the servant’s quarters was now at least 20% cables by floor use, thick rubber creepers covering the jungle of electronics scattered about the place. Any furniture from the suite not mounted in place had been moved into the room and now served as stands for the array of holoprojectors that all cast their blue-tinged glow at Valoon Harsais’ face, illuminating tiny drops of sweat on their shaved head. Valoon hadn’t moved for a good ten minutes, except for their eyes darting from projection to projection, scanning the resort’s array of security sconces for any sign of fellow Khiraba Mauon. Valoon knew that the odds of actually finding Mauon like this were slight and getting thinner every minute, but it was a rare chance to just let themselves sink fully into a task without any outside distractions. The rat’s nest of cogitators and surveillance gear was their cocoon. And, well, it was as good a chance as any to catch up on their extracurriculars, investments from before their recruitment that the Khiraba graciously overlooked in exchange for Valoon’s loyalty.

“Yoooo!” came the noise of Manaj’s voice echoing through the whole suite. Valoon had learned to overhear the noise of doors and footsteps and even, to a degree, regular background conversation, but of course that was no good at all when it came to dealing with that particular pest. Valoon resigned themselves to getting no work done for the next half hour and craned their neck, working out the kinks creeping up the muscles there.
“In here,” Valoon responded.
“So!” Manaj said, walking past the room on their way to the suite’s minibar. “Did you find him?”
“Yes,” Valoon snarked, “he was jacking off in the bathroom and crying the whole time. But I didn’t want to interrupt the reception with the good news.”
“I really wish you had,” Manaj said.
“The burdens of duty,” Valoon said. “What’d I miss?”
“You missed the speech,” Manaj said.
“Was it a good speech?” Valoon asked.
“You be the judge,” Manaj said. “Went like this: bla bla bla, I’m the Steward and this is my favorite resort in the whole Imperium, now here’s my good friend Ita Raa to ruin your mood and the good news is, tonight’s reminder of the resort’s history is 100% alcohol-free!”
“That is too bad,” Valoon said. “If you had gotten drunk, you’d probably have found Mauon by yourself.”
“Hey!” Manaj said. “First of all, he was drunk when he came on to me.”
“You were both drunk off your asses,” Valoon added.
“And second,” Manaj said, appearing in the doorway with two bottles of beer, “he’s been avoiding me ever since.”
“I guess he didn’t like it when you tried to cut off his penis,” Valoon said.
“I guess not,” Manaj said.
“I mean, he seemed into it at first,” Valoon said, “but then you started laughing.”
“Well, I got to thinking,” Manaj fired back, “what if I miss?”

Valoon chuckled, and Manaj joined in after a second.

“Ah,” Manaj said, “fuck him.”
“Or not,” Valoon said.
“Definitely not, thank you,” Manaj said. “So, where do you think he’s hiding?” Without waiting for an answer, she set down one bottle on a nightstand, then used the nightstand’s edge to pop open the second bottle with a hearty smack. “I mean, he’s a stupid asshole but being hard to find is pretty much the one thing he’s good at.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Valoon said. They looked over their shoulder. “So, if I tell you my theory, do I get a beer or what?”
Manaj put down her beer, opened the second bottle the same way she had the first and handed it over to Valoon. “Here ya go, baldy,” she said.
“Thanks, skank,” Valoon answered. They held up their bottle, receiving a clink from Manaj’s. They turned and took a swig from the bottle. “Blech. Is this a reminder of the resort’s history, too? Tastes like it’s been here for sixty-seven years.”
“Don’t know, don’t care,” Manaj said. “So, your theory.”
“The Wherren,” Valoon said.

Manaj bent over to stare at the projections. The one from the sconce within the storage room of the chalet showed that Wherren on a makeshift bed of scavenged blankets, fast asleep.

“You’re gonna need to explain that a bit more,” Manaj said. “Like, use more than two words.”
“I think this is looped,” Valoon said. “I’ve been watching it for half an hour. Never seen a lone Wherren sleep that well. They go all squirmy when they’re alone.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Manaj said. “I’m not that adventurous.”
“Get your mind out of the recycling tank for a second, please,” Valoon said. “The question is this. Do you think it is at all possible that Mauon, with our full access to resort security, looped this sconce?”
“...to kill the Wherren while everyone else is away?” Manaj said. “Vidas Lam. I mean, I don’t think for a second he wouldn’t do it, if he thought he could get away with it, but…”
“He’d have to be smart,” Valoon said. “And I don’t like that idea.”
“Well, I’m not doing anything else tonight,” Manaj said. “Let’s grab our gear and go check it out.”

---

Ten minutes and a change of clothes into full carapace later, Valoon and Manaj finally reached the lodge where those weirdo backwater nobles from Abena were registered. Manaj was already regretting her own boldness at this point; the armor kept them warm and dry, sure, but she wasn’t looking forward to dealing with that Wherren servant at all. Truth be told, Manaj had come to feel a bit sorry for Wherren after listening to just a bit too much of Mauon’s unending stream of bile about them. Sure, a house servant had a better life than a laborer or an Arena warrior, and everything was an improvement over roughing it in the wilderness on their ‘sanctuary’ home planet, but…well, Manaj never liked people acting like they owned her. She gave those furry beasts enough credit to believe they didn’t like it, either.

“So?” Valoon said from beside her. “Are we doing this or what? I got the gatecrasher, you cover me.”
“I think we should chime,” Manaj said, still half-lost in her thoughts.
“Wow,” Valoon said. “You’re growing a set of manners now?”
“Just thinking ahead,” Manaj said. What followed was a well-reasoned objection, not at all a hasty save. “I mean, we come in hot and it’s not like we think, like, if Mauon didn’t kill it, we might spook that thing. And if I kill it, we’re not gonna get answers, are we?”
“You can just say you don’t wanna explain it to Ita, you know,” Valoon snarked, then drew their pantiki. “Okay, you chime, I cover you.”
“All right,” Manaj said. Steeling herself, she stepped up the lodge’s service entrance and tapped the outside controls. The panel woke up, chiming inside and setting the two-way comms to listening mode. “This is Khiraba Manaj Akest,” she said, in her best official voice. “Open up.”

No response. The panel’s display dimmed after a few seconds. Manaj hit it again.

“Open up and step outside,” she said.

Nothing. She hit it again.

“Open this damn door,” she said. “Open this door or we’ll do it for you. You have five seconds to comply. Five…four…”
“Fuck this,” Valoon said. “I’m crashing, get ready.”
Manaj held up her hand. “Three…two…”

It was the perfect moment for Hulor to trudge in through the snow, rounding the corner only to stare down the two Khiraba and their stingers aimed at him. The burst of yellow running through his fur and the darkness masked the red, he hoped.

“...can help, Mistress?” he croaked.
“All yours, skank,” Valoon voxed directly to Manaj.
“What are you doing out here?” Manaj said.
“I walk,” Hulor said, forcing some calm into his fur. “Mistress Viis allows.”
“Spinkshit,” Manaj said. “You were sleeping ten minutes ago. We saw the feed.”
“Yes,” Hulor said. “I wake up. I walk. I come back.” He cocked his head. “I go back sleep now?”
“Yeah, I don’t buy it,” Valoon voxed. “I’m pulling the feed recordings from the last fifteen minutes.”
“If Mauon didn’t kill the Wherren, who would mess with the feed?” Manaj voxed back.
“I don’t know,” Valoon admitted.
Hulor stared at the two outwardly silent Khiraba for a few seconds. “I go back sleep?” he repeated.
“Open the door,” Manaj said. “Open the door, then stand to the side and don’t move.”
“Yes, Mistress,” Hulor said. He moved towards the panel, then tapped in the access code and stepped aside as ordered.
“Stay,” Manaj said, then stepped through the door with her pantiki raised, but close to her chest. Just like Ita, she thought, but doing a tactical entry wrong on purpose just to spite her dear leader was beyond even Manaj’s rebellious inclination.

Inside, the basement was…well, like a basement. There was the corner where the beast had made its nest from discarded luggage, some strewn-about gear, the soft hum of the lodge’s lighting fixtures and not a damn thing else in there. Especially not Mauon. Vidas Lam, where was that asshole?

“You’re not gonna like this, but the footage backs up what it said,” Valoon voxed. “Find anything inside?”
“Negative,” Manaj replied. “Damn it.”
“It was a shot in the dark,” Valoon voxed. “Come on. Let’s get back.”

Manaj stomped out of the lodge and made a left toward Hulor, who made little attempt to shrink away from her.

“Did anyone come here after your owners left?” she asked him.
“No, Mistress,” Hulor said.
“What about the other Khiraba with the scarred face?” she asked. “Mauon Tanas. Have you seen him since the landing pad?”
“No, Mistress,” Hulor repeated.
“And this is the only time you went outside?” she said.
“Yes, Mistress,” Hulor said.
“Aaaaand the access logs for the door show nobody’s been in or out except for ten minutes ago and just now,” Valoon voxed. “Look, this isn’t getting us anywhere. Let’s go back and check the other surveillance feeds again.”
“I go back sleep?” Hulor asked again.

Manaj looked to the left of the beast and to the right, finding no answers to either side. At what point was it okay to disregard her own gut? It had kept her alive so far, and now it was telling her that this beast was concealing something, but…if Valoon was right, and everything they could independently verify supported the beast’s story…then was it really just a weird situation turning out to be completely different from her first assumption? Vidas fucking Lam, Ita wouldn’t let her hear the end of it, how she was always jumping without looking, and now she was using Mauon’s fucking warmed-over prejudices as a starting point? Manaj clenched her teeth. No sense digging herself even deeper on this one.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said. “Go inside and sleep. We’re done here.” She thought for a moment. “But stay inside when you’re not with your owners. You’ve got no business being out here. Especially at night. You got that?”
“Yes, Mistress,” Hulor said, bowing his head. “I understand, Mistress. Thank you.” He smiled. “I go back sleep now.” Bowing his head again, he ducked past Manaj and through the door, disappearing back into the lodge’s basement.
“Don’t fucking thank me,” Manaj mumbled. “Fuck,” she said out loud.
“You handled it well,” Valoon said. “You know. For a skank.”
“Fuck you, baldy,” Manaj replied, though her heart wasn’t in it. “I need another beer.”
“With your luck, Mauon’s back at the suite,” Valoon said, “sleeping it off in your bed.”
Manaj snorted. “...let’s just fucking go,” she said.

V - Pieces And How To Pick Them Up

---

It was presumably 0500 sharp in…whatever three timezones ago was for Deungjeong when he woke up next. That mapped rather fortuitously to just past sunrise at the resort. Noticing that he was sitting up in bed, the lodge’s systems began their morning routine, reducing the dimming on the generous smartglass windows to let some of that new morning beauty into his bedroom. Deungjeong breathed. He was at the lodge in an uncomfortably comfortable bed, not strapped down to a reeducation grid for interrogation. It followed, then, that they had gotten away with killing one Khiraba, or at least bought themselves a stay of execution, duration tee bee dee. What a vote of confidence in his leadership that was.

When this mission was all over, he’d have to have a word with Hug’sh about mission planning, contingency options and antacid recommendations.

Equally cheerful was the thought that went into his getting cleaned and ready for the new day. You never knew when you were gonna get your dance card punched by the man upstairs, so unless they were shelling your bathroom, there was always time to do it right. So it was half an hour past 0500 sharp three timezones ago that Deungjeong exited his part of the lodge and climbed down into the common area via a nice set of wooden stairs. In the end, he mused, humans were at least this much alike, even in outer space. Down there, he found everyone else already assembled; the humans, at least, with BONESAW and Hulor conferenced in via vox.

“What’s our status?” Deungjeong asked, slouching towards his seat at the table and the mug of herbal tea waiting for him there.
“They called off the search for Mauon two hours past midnight,” BONESAW said. “The Steward has announced an announcement to come, though, so…who knows.”
“I’m still worried about those close calls yesterday,” Marta said.
“I covered our tracks well enough,” BONESAW said. “They can come by and ask questions, but they don’t have any proof.”
“You say that like they need proof,” Dor weighed in. “Make no mistake. Ita Raa would interrogate each and everyone at the resort just to be sure. The only protection we have is that she doesn’t want to look helpless in front of the Steward.”
“Let’s get back to actionable items,” Deungjeong said. “Dor, I want you with me to check the dead drops. Marta, you take Hulor shopping.”
"Shopping?" Hulor said. "We are well supplied."
“It’s a good excuse to get us close to resort staff all over,” Marta said. “You said that Khiraba was suspicious of you being outside. We need to plant the idea with people that we’ll be sending you out on errands and pickups. And that requires that we actually order stuff for you to pick up.”
"But maybe I should relocate the body instead?" Hulor asked. "Without the Manta overhead, I can haul it further up the mountain."
“That’d be a load off my mind, but I think that’s not in the cards,” Deungjeong said. “We’ll have to hope the lizardwolves are hungry.”
“That depends on the temperatures,” Hulor said. “They will gorge when it’s warm, but if it gets too cold, they will leave a kill alone. Their jaws are not strong enough to tear frozen meat.”
“...you do know a surprising amount about lizardwolves,” BONESAW commented. “Considering there are none on Whirr.”
”A hunter must know his competition,” Hulor said.
“Well, the forecast today is sunny,” BONESAW said. “So, we might be in luck.”
“Better to be lucky than dead,” Deungjeong said. “Anything else?”
“Uh, yeah,” BONESAW said. “Here’s that announcement from the Steward now.”

The table holo flickered to life, resolving into the smiling portrait of Steward Mausa Ogea in his ‘simple’ morning frock. “Good morning, my dear friends,” he said. His voice was subtly lower than the announcement at the ball or the welcome at the landing pad, as if he was being considerate to the hungover nobles listening. “I wish to welcome you all to another sure to be wonderful day here at the resort with some very important news. We were blessed last night to receive a fresh dusting of powder snow on our slopes. It gives me great pleasure to declare that we will be opening the Silver Mountain Athletic Outpost today, with access to all three of our trails - including our famous Double Jade slope, the Prime’s Triumph. The first cable car will depart within the hour from the resort base station, after which we will be running a regular service with departures every fifteen minutes. Oh, and please remember to use sunscreen, dear friends - it’ll be a bright day up the mountain today!” His smile faltered just a bit. “I do hope to see you all up there.”

With that, the transmission cut off.

“Well, that was a big nothingburger,” BONESAW said.
“I don’t think so,” Marta commented. “Sounded more like they want the resort cleared out.”
“We’ll need to make a showing there,” Deungjeong said. “Marta, can you cover the dead drops on your trip with Hulor?”
“Leave it to us,” Marta said.
“Okay,” Deungjeong said. “Let’s square this chalet away before we head out. Hulor, BONESAW, I want you to go over the basement again. They might come back for a second, thorough search. Everyone else, go through your rooms, make sure we’re safe up here.” He looked to Dor. “How’s your skiing?”
“Terrible,” Dor said. “But I think I can pull off looking at my idiot nephew try not to break his neck while I sip on tea spiked with overpriced fireberry liquor.” She hefted her new handbag over her shoulder. “Let’s go.”

---

To the surprise of a few very hungover nobles, the resort’s little medical office was closed that morning, with the medicae on duty standing by to reassure them that of course he’d be ready to receive anyone who got injured at the Athletic Outpost. What he didn’t say was that the office’s inviting pastel-toned all-purpose treatment couch was currently occupied by the gnawed up corpse of Mauon Tanas, barely peeled from the plastic wrap used to transport his corpse. Standing over him was Ngroni Kaorusaa, still in her waitstaff uniform with a heavy apron, gloves and PPE thrown on top. The rest of the Khiraba stood to the side, none even daring to make a sound under Ita Raa’s searing gaze.

“...I’m not sure I can tell you the cause of death right away,” Ngroni said, breaking the silence in the room. “Contusions, abrasions, teeth and needle marks, plus the posthumous bloat and frostbite -”
“Did he or did he not die from a lizardwolf attack?” Ita said.
Ngroni peeled back the plastic to check the arms and chest again. “I don’t see any defensive wounds,” she said. “Maybe they did technically kill him, but I think he was incapacitated beforehand.”
“You mean drunk off his ass,” Manaj threw in.
“...maybe,” Ngroni said.
“Blood alcohol?” Ita said coolly.
“That’s…that’s hard to determine accurately, Ita,” Ngroni said. “There’s just not enough blood left to be certain.”
“Then take a wild fucking guess,” Ita said, still forcing her voice to stay even. “I don’t need a BAC, I need to know if it’s closer to alcohol poisoning than sober.”
“...my assessment would be closer to sober,” Ngroni said. “I’ll…I’ll rerun the bloodwork, to be sure.”
“Manaj,” Ita said, “you are very familiar with Mauon. Was he given to drink?”
“Uh, yeah,” Manaj said. “Functioning alcoholic. You know him.”
“Then do you think the few drinks he may have had last night were enough to make him pass out?” Ita asked.
“Probably not,” Manaj admitted.
“Then I will thank you to keep your opinions about his cause of death to yourself,” Ita said. Finally, she turned to look at Manaj. “A fellow Khiraba lies dead before us. Whatever your personal feelings may have been, it is a disgrace to this unit to make light of this.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Manaj said.
“Don’t ‘yes Ma’am’ me,” Ita growled. Before Manaj could properly react, Ita was in her face, put hands on her shoulders and pushed her against the nearest wall. “You seem to be forgetting that we are not on fucking vacation here. As far as we are concerned, this is enemy territory. And there are no accidents on enemy territory. Do I make myself clear?”
Manaj looked up, met Ita’s eyes. “...crystal, Ma’am,” she said.
“Hate him all you want,” Ita whispered, “but whoever killed him will come after you next. And you do still care about your own neck at least, don’t you?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Manaj said, louder this time.

Ita gave her a nod, then let go off her shoulders and turned back to the others.

“Valoon,” Ita said. “You went with Manaj to check on that Wherren that Mauon antagonized. Did you find anything suspicious?”
“He was not inside his owner’s chalet when we checked on them, we met him outside,” Valoon said. “Claimed he was just out on a short walk. Video and logs backed it up.”
“If the evidence supports the Wherren’s story, why is it still suspicious?” Ita said, adopting her best academy instructor voice.
“...just a gut feeling, Ma’am,” Valoon said.
“It’s never just a gut feeling,” Ita said. “Tell me. Why is the Wherren’s story suspicious?”
“That he was outside to begin with, no matter the alibi,” Valoon said. “I haven’t met many Wherren servants being allowed this kind of autonomy, particularly out of their homes.”
“Maybe he has eccentric owners,” Ita suggested, still in her instructor voice.
“A couple of minor nobles desperate to suck up to the Steward would be extra careful with their servants,” Valoon said. “Eccentric owners or not, they wouldn’t dare allow him anything that could get them into trouble here. And…we don’t have any other suspects.”
“Ngroni,” Ita said, turning to their medical specialist again. “What do you think about a Wherren attack as cause of death?”
“It’s not a mauling, Ita,” Ngroni said. “The animal marks are all clearly from lizardwolves. I’d expect claw marks, flesh rending, torn joints.”
“Forget mauling,” Ita said. “A trained Wherren warrior, smart enough not to use his claws.”
“I’d expect more evidence of blunt force trauma and overleveraging,” Ngroni said. “I know it doesn’t make sense, but…it almost looks like Mauon just…dropped dead and then the lizardwolves scavenged from his corpse.”
“Bloodwork is clear of poison?” Ita asked.
“As far as I could tell, yes,” Ngroni said.
“There are more subtle ways to kill,” Harsa Iaron weighed in. The smile on his face told everyone in the room that he spoke from personal experience. “A precise puncture of a major artery, for example. The greater the skill, the finer the needle - and throwing the body to the lizardwolves may mask the injury, as would swelling and bloating.”
“Bashakra’i, then?” Ita asked.
“Not with their usual blades,” Harsa said. “But I would not put it past a skilled assassin with the right weapon, if they were to surprise their target completely. And let us not forget the difficulties with the bloodwork. The lizardwolves we chased away did not look very bloated. It is hard to be certain, but…perhaps he bled out somewhere else.”
“That’s the best idea I’ve heard so far,” Ita said. “Harsa, double-check the autopsy and search for any traces of contact on the body. If he was killed elsewhere and moved, somebody must have carried him.”
“I am sure Ngroni here is more than capable of this work,” Harsa said. “I just had a few…pointers.”
“I want fresh eyes,” Ita said. “Manaj, Valoon, go over the site again. Footprints, broken branches, anything out of place from there down to the resort.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” the two Khiraba echoed in near-unison.
“Vidas fucking Lam,” Ita muttered. “Hop to it, then. If anyone needs me, I’ll be wasting my time with the Steward.”
“...Ita?” Ngroni asked. “Do you want me to come along?”
Ita turned to look at her. “No,” she said, finally. “Get some rest.”

VI - Right For All The Wrong Reasons

---

At the ‘village marketplace’, Marta and Hulor were about four shops into their rounds, depending on whether or not you counted the candied-nuts-and-fruits stand in front of the sportswear store as a shop in its own right. Hulor was already carrying a pre-packed ‘gift basket’ of local delikatessen, adorned with a simple little note. The contents of that note would pass for a trite greeting to a not-so-loved one, while also being the countersign for the message Marta had left the day before. That still didn’t give her a name or a face to look out for, but it was enough to select a time and meeting place. So, at least one covert operative down, one more to go.

The more troubling aspect of this mission, however, was a different count: one down, five to go. And who should appear but one of the five, clad in her achingly polished carapace, a foreign particle in this de-luxe shopping experience. Marta failed to place the Khiraba’s face even as the woman squared up before her.

“Khiraba Kaorusaa,” Ngroni said, her soft voice completely at odds with her stiff face. “You’re the guardian of this - “ she cast an unkind side-eye at Hulor - “servant?”
“Um, no,” Marta said. “That would be my…future mother-in-law, Sauni Viis.”
Ngroni smiled. It was a hollow smile. “Then you should call her,” Ngroni said. “I am here to take it into custody for questioning.”

It was a good thing Marta had already dialed Dor’s vox, because right there, she was awfully short on possible replies that wouldn’t dig them in even deeper.

“Viis speaking,” Dor replied on the vox’s little speaker. “What’s this now? What do you need my servant for?”
“We have some questions for it,” Ngroni said. “Unless you would prefer to answer them, Ma’am.”
“...hardly,” Dor said. “Vaaj! Do you know what this is about?”
“I do not know, Mistress,” Hulor answered. True enough. He didn’t know. He just had a 99% certain guess.
“Vidas Lam,” Dor said. “Is he under arrest?”
“No, Ma’am,” Ngroni said, “we just have some questions. For now.”
“I see,” Dor said. “You’ll have my petition for release on guardian’s recognizance within the hour.”
“Naturally, Ma’am,” Ngroni said. “I need you to confirm for me that you are waiving representation.”
“Yes, yes,” Dor said. “He speaks well enough. And if he doesn’t, that’s your problem now. Will that be all, then? My drink’s melting.”
“That will be all,” Ngroni said. “Thank you for your cooperation, Ma’am.” After a moment, she added “The Throne protects.”
“...the Emperor guides,” Dor replied.

With the vox call over, Ngroni turned to look at Marta, then at the bags Hulor was putting down on the ground.

“Follow me, servant,” she said.
“Yes, Mistress,” Hulor said.

---

“...what just happened?” Deungjeong asked.

He was watching Dor sip a little puddle of vaporous bullshit from a chilled glass, a menu item that had cost enough lats at the athletic outpost’s swanky Hordad Lounge to clean out a whole fried spink cart on Atea with enough change to buy a round of shots for the bar behind it, if not the bar itself. She seemed in no hurry to set the glass back down and he wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. Behind her, a new batch of tourists was arriving via the cable car. Everything looked way too fucking normal.

“I played a bad hand as well as I could,” Dor replied. “Detention for lawful purposes gives them 12 hours to either name cause or let him go. I hope that’s tight enough that they won’t bother flying him out and detaining him at the next Kansat post.”
“Khiraba, famous sticklers for rules,” Deungjeong muttered. “Alright, nothing we can do about it now.” He raised his own overpriced, what’s-wrong-with-these-hops-tasting beverage off the transparent table and took a generous swig.
“Well,” Dor mused, falling into thinking mode. “If they -”
“Heads up,” Deungjeong cut her off, then brought his voice half an octave higher and his IQ to barely above simmering. “They’re going too far now!” he protested, pretending not to notice Harsa’s approach. “I mean, this is a holiday resort! There’s nothing here to…rebel with.”
“If only that were true,” Harsa said, not bothering with clearing his throat first. He smiled brightly right at Dor, while Deungjeong slid aside to make room at the table. “May I join you for a moment, Lady Viis?”
“Do as you wish,” Dor said, not quite looking at him. “Is this a social call, Khiraba Iaron?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Harsa said, somehow speaking without letting his smile budge by a millimeter. “I have to admit, I listened to the call just now. So I could say I’m here to personally deliver your petition to my commanding officer after ensuring that it is impeccably formulated, which would make this official business, but to be honest my curiosity is what brings me to your table. You don’t seem too shocked to hear your servant has been taken in for questioning. Should I presume this process is not unfamiliar to you, then?”
“As familiar as the compensation for lost labor I collect after my servant is released,” Dor fired back. “I should make a business out of that.”
Harsa chuckled. “You’re a much more interesting woman than I first took you for, Lady Viis,” he said. “I’ve dealt with my share of idle nobles, and you’re anything but.” He left it hanging for a moment. “Idle, I mean.”
“You’re right about that,” Dor said. “Which is why all this standing around does not agree with me.” She looked past Harsa to Deungjeong. “But my nephew is owed a taste of the sweet life before he is plunged into responsibility.” She took another sip from her glass. “If you were here to help me with the petition, you’d tell me what it is my servant is being questioned for, wouldn’t you?”
“I’ll tell you even so,” Harsa said, finally sparing a look at Deungjeong. “We now hold proof that rebels walk among us here. And we believe your servant can identify at least one.”
“He wouldn’t!” Deungjeong blurted out, scanning Harsa’s face for clues to the reaction it produced. Playing a simple-minded heir getting himself into a bit of clueless trouble and not falling into any actual trouble for it was not an easy game, and Deungjeong searched for any edge he might gain in it. “Vaaj is…”
“Loyal,” Dor finished the sentence. “But smart enough to know what fate awaits him if he should ever betray my confidence.”
“Yeah,” Deungjeong said. “So, like, if he saw anything, he would’ve told us -”
“And you would’ve come to us, of course,” Harsa finished.
“Yeah!” Deungjeong said.
“Pardon me for saying, young master,” Harsa said, “but I don’t think you have your aunt’s…impassivity quite yet.”
Deungjeong raised an eyebrow at Harsa.
“He’s a work in progress,” Dor said. “Now, Khiraba Iaron, I’m not entirely sure what it is you’re looking to hear from us, but I can assure you that my nephew’s answer is mine as well. It’s not just loyalty you’ll find in the Viis, but good sense as well. I’m well aware that what is best for the Imperium is also best for us. And that such a grand achievement as the Jade Throne must be…robustly defended.”
“Indeed,” Harsa said. “These current troubles are regrettable, but we have persevered through much worse.” He grinned, directly at her. “After all, when even a jewel like Bashakra can prove itself flawed…it takes great strength to cast it into fire, for the good of the Imperium.”

Deungjeong looked at Dor’s expression. His mind scrolled through a hundred ways to quickly kill Harsa, trying to sort for Least Worse while he watched Dor’s face darken. Deungjeong felt a bit of sweat down his back. Goddamn it -

“I had friends on Bashakra, you know,” Dor said, her eyes fixed directly on Harsa’s.
“Did you now,” Harsa said softly.
“They burned, every last one of them,” Dor added.

Fuck fuck fuck

Dor smiled thinly. “So that the Imperium may live.” She raised her glass to her lips and took another sip. “You’re right, of course,” she said. “The Imperium was strong that day, maybe stronger than it had ever been. What concerns me is whether that strength is still present.”
“It is,” Harsa said, with more emphasis in his voice now. “You can be assured of that, Lady Viis.”
“Now then,” Dor said. “I do have to work on that petition now before I can fully numb myself to the day’s tedium. Might I impose on you, Khiraba Iaron, that you get yourself a drink on my tab?”
“It’d be deeply impolite to refuse you,” Harsa said, finally nodding to Dor. “You have been most…stimulating company, Lady Viis.”
Dor smirked. “Take your leave before I start charging for my time,” she said.
“Of course, my Lady,” Harsa said. Finally, he drifted away.

It wasn’t until he was well out of earshot that Deungjeong relaxed the tension in his arm.

“If they really were on to us,” Dor said dryly, “killing him wouldn’t have made a difference.”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t think about it,” Deungjeong said.
“I didn’t like my chances,” Dor said. “And we’re here to save lives.”
“We are,” Deungjeong said.

Neither spoke for a moment.

“Let’s finish our drinks,” Deungjeong said.

VII - Space Cat & Space Mouse

---

Hulor wished this was over.

He considered himself a patient man; half a hunter’s work was patience, after all. But being held in the resort’s empty conference room by those humans without them having properly caught him in their net was really chafing his hump. They hadn’t done a thing to prove themselves the better predators and instead just hauled in The Wherren because it was the most braindead move to make. The game wasn’t just not fair - Hulor knew it would never be fair - but it wasn’t fun, either.

He glanced out of the panoramic window front, with its views of more distant snowy peaks glimmering in the sun. He shouldn’t bust through there and make for the rocky slope - instant mission failure, plus no certainty that he could outrun anyone there - but the adrenaline it’d pump through his body seemed enticing, for a moment.

The door opened and Hulor hastened to stand up and bow his head, though he didn’t bother to check who it was. They all smelled the same, after all.

“Have a seat, Vaaj,” the newcomer said. Hulor chanced a look upwards; this Khiraba was wearing as little carapace as they could get away with on their undersuit, and the shorn head added to an impression of vulnerability. That was enough to raise Hulor’s sense of trouble to a yellow alert, though he kept his fur placid as he sat back down. “I am Khiraba Harsais,” Valoon said. “I have some questions for you. I expect you to answer them. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mixter,” Hulor said, “I understand.”
Valoon smirked. “Interesting,” they said, finding a place at the far too large table that was just two seats away from Hulor. “Even most humans assume I’m female. How did you figure it out?”
“I see the mark on your eyebrow,” Hulor said. “Mistress receives many guests. It is required to speak correctly to them.”
“You’re right about that,” Valoon said. “Do you know why you’re here?”
“You have questions,” Hulor said.
Valoon chuckled again. “You know,” they said, “that’s good. That’s smart. We have questions, yes. About what? Either you don’t know…or you do know it doesn’t matter. But alright, Vaaj, let’s play this straight. I’ll put my cards down first.” They leaned forward and put their elbows on the table. “Yesterday, one of my comrades died. Khiraba Mauon Tanas. We found the body, not in great shape, but enough left to tell that it was homicide.”

If they were fishing for a reaction, Hulor didn’t give them one.

“You were the obvious first suspect, of course,” Valoon explained. “After all, who else could take a trained Khiraba in a fight? But the holes in that theory are obvious to anyone with half a brain. We checked you for fresh wounds and found nothing. Anyone else, I might have believed they’d go down without getting a hit in…but not Mauon Tanas. No, we’re pretty sure he was killed by surprise - with a lot of finesse. Frankly, from the angle and precision of the strike, I just don’t see how you could’ve done it.”
Hulor said nothing.
“So, your guardians, then,” Valoon continued. “They’re not above suspicion, and you trying to protect them would make sense…except they have a solid alibi with the evening reception. They were all there the whole time, we have witnesses and vids corroborating it. There was no time for any of them to slip away long enough to make the kill.”
Hulor breathed out.
“But here’s the thing, Vaaj,” Valoon said. “Even if I’m pretty sure that you didn’t kill Mauon Tanas…I am also pretty sure that you moved his body.”

Hulor’s colors remained subdued, but his ears twitched, just a bit.

“No footprints anywhere near the site where we found the body,” Valoon said. “So we know he didn’t walk there by himself. No drag marks or other tracks in the snow, either. All sleds in the resort accounted for overnight, no air traffic except for the Manta patrol - and if he’d dropped off of that, we’d know. So unless he floated all the way there on a magic bubble, someone did carry him there. And Mauon Tanas was a big guy. So, somebody strong enough to easily carry him without dragging, careful enough to leave no obvious tracks in the snow.” They paused. “If I bet fifty lats that you were chosen as tribute because of your hunting skills, I think I’d double my money.”
Hulor continued to say nothing.
“I have a lot of imagination, you know,” Valoon said. “I’ve done a shady deal or two in my time. So, here’s a story I just came up with. A little fireside tale, if you will. You see, Vaaj, there are bad people hiding in this resort. We don’t know how many, but for our story, let’s say there’s a bad man. And that bad man, well, he has to get out of here before we find him, but right now he can’t. So what’s the next best thing he can do? Well, he can try to get rid of us. He might not have a plan, but he thinks, pile up enough dead Khiraba and there’s bound to be some sort of way to slip the net. And then, you come along. The ideal patsy for his scheme. In fact, he can’t believe his luck - you’re on an evening stroll, away from the resort’s security. And here comes Mauon Tanas, also out of anyone’s sight. Mauon Tanas hates you, like he does all Wherren, and out here in the night, he thinks it’s safe to confront you. So confronting you is very much what Mauon Tanas wants to do.”
Hulor looked down.
“Hey, I worked with that guy, he was a speciesist asshole, no need to sugarcoat it,” Valoon said. “So, Mauon’s in your face, trying to get a rise out of you. If he can get you to strike at him, that’ll be all the justification he needs to kill you right there. And you’re pretty good at holding yourself back, Vaaj, I can see that, but Mauon wasn’t the type to back down unless somebody forced him to. Maybe he was about to kill you anyway. Who’s to say you didn’t try to attack him first, after all, if there are no witnesses? It wouldn’t be as satisfying to Mauon, but eventually, he’d take the kill even without the fun of getting you angry.”

Hulor sucked a deep breath into his chest. Valoon was…wrong about a lot of things, but they’d narrowed in on something true here, and Hulor’s anger at the situation was resting uncomfortably close to the surface now, just under the false colors of surprise and fear.

“And then,” Valoon said, pausing for effect. “And then…enter the bad man. Mauon’s too preoccupied with you to notice him. He closes, faster than you thought he could, swift and precise. He’s a trained killer. One strike to the right place, that’s all it takes. Mauon goes down. And you ask, why? Anyone in your position would ask themselves that. Why would a human kill another human to save you? Well, it doesn’t matter, does it? Now you’re an accomplice, even if you didn’t do anything. The bad man explains it to you, and it sounds so simple and straightforward. Mauon’s body has to go before anyone finds him, and it needs to happen quickly, before anyone notices that your evening stroll is getting awfully long. I’ve done the math, Vaaj, and it’s tight…not even fifteen minutes between leaving the chalet and coming back. Even if Mauon ambushed you right after you left, it’d be hard for all that to play out and still give you time to get him that far away. But I don’t doubt that you could do it, Vaaj. I’ve seen Alef-ka cut through crowds. I know how fast Wherren can go when they have to. So you gather up Mauon’s body and you move. You go as far as you dare, as fast as you can - not too deep into the forest, where there’s a better chance of leaving tracks. You worry about the Manta patrol but it’s your lucky night, Vaaj, it just misses you. You put Mauon’s body down there and hurry back. By the time you return, the bad man is gone - and so is every other trace of the murder. The bad man took care of it. Your heart must be racing now, but you know there’s no use fretting over it. You head back to the chalet and wouldn’t you know it, you get lucky again. You’re there just in time to run into me and my partner. You lie through your teeth to us, but they are small lies, easy to hide for someone with your discipline, because we’re not asking the right questions. So we let you go.” They paused. “How’d you sleep that night?”

Valoon stopped talking and stared straight across the table to Hulor.

“End of storytime, back to reality,” Valoon finally said. “Your guardians won’t help. Even if they’re completely innocent, even if you’re completely innocent, they can’t afford the liability. In fact, if they’re smart they’re already signing a renunciation of you right now. A Khiraba’s murder doesn’t just turn into a cold case. Someone’s going to pay for this. And right now, it’ll be you.” They snort. “Not before we get a confession out of you, though. Reeducation grid’s hard on Wherren, you know. You may be big and tough, but all those nerves through your fur…”
Hulor, through some miracle, still said nothing.
“If you get us the real killer,” Valoon said, “you’ll still go down as an accomplice. Normally that’s the Arena, but if you cooperate fully, we might get it down to a few years of hard labor. Either way, don’t think you’re going back to the Viis estate. There’s no version of this that ends well for you. But if you help us, we can help you make it less bad. So if you know what’s good for you, start talking.”

Hulor snorted. He wasn’t sure if it was the right move, but he let some of his steel show through as he looked up to meet Valoon’s eyes.

“I have nothing to say to you, Mixter,” Hulor said.
“Look,” Valoon said, “if you think I’m spouting spinkshit or that there’s something your guardians can do to get you out of this, that’s your choice to make. But I’m telling you, this offer is as good as it gets. And it expires the second I walk out of here.” Hulor snorted. Valoon smirked again. “Alright, Vaaj,” they said. “Your choice.”

With that, Valoon got up from their seat and turned to walk away. They made it almost to the door before they stopped.

“It’s just a shame, you know,” Valoon said. “I would have liked to play a few more rounds against you.”

Then they left.

---

Deungjeong existed to fix things. Like more than a few soldiers, he had grown up in big-c Circumstances. He was a native speaker of Violence, had learned to take beatings while other kids learned to ride bikes and the first question he’d asked the far-too-late cavalry of CPS case workers was what would happen to his little brother now that daddy was gone for 25 to life. It just didn’t enter his mind that there was something loveable about himself, only something salvageable. Damaged beyond politeness and unshakably addicted to adrenaline, the one thing he felt qualified to do was to go and dispassionately apply the force continuum in the furtherance of a Good Cause. And God willing, die a hero before he had time to turn into his dad. Having other people possibly die for him, then, felt weird. But he pushed that thought down, rationalized it. Hulor wasn’t doing him a favor. He was doing it for the mission. And that feeling, Deungjeong knew in his bones.

Still, a question that had stalked him on the way down to the athletic outpost’s archery range got a whole lot louder when he got eyes on the person he was going to meet, the Bashakra’i who had responded to Marta’s coded message in the dead drop. Oh, did Deungjeong ever get eyes on them. Them and also the Other Bashakra’i, the one who was not supposed to fucking be here. Goddammit, why’d they go to all the trouble if the people they were rescuing weren’t going to stick by the protocol? If they broke this rule, what else had they already messed up…and what would they mess up on the way out? Was this what had gotten the whole lot into trouble?

Oh, right, the question: was it a good trade? Well, Deungjeong, was it?

“...yeah, no,” Deungjeong muttered. He was looking at Aberuni “Abe” Arperna, the resort’s assistant sports equipment manager and Koethni Swaa, sous chef, respectively. Neither gave away which one was actually supposed to be here. Deungjeong quietly weighed the merits of this being a trap and whether he should abort the whole mission right here. The fact that he had nothing on him that’d let him double-tap the two of them in the head weighed quietly, but uncomfortably on his decision making process. Finally, he sighed. “Why’d you change it up?”
“We’re out of time,” Koethni said. Her hand was perfectly still at her side, Deungjeong noticed. She looked Bashakra’i enough, ready to jump him at a moment’s notice. “One of them is dead, one of your team got captured. We need to exfil now.”
“...guessing we got in touch with you,” Deungjeong said, nodding to Abe, who returned the nod, “and you jumped the gun, then.” Koethni didn’t move a muscle on her face. Deungjeong smirked. “Oh well. Now, with the pleasantries out of the way, let’s talk about getting you out of here.” His smirk faltered. “Unfortunately, we don’t have an option yet. I thought we’d have more time to work the issue. Right now, all I can say is we’ll be in touch when we do.”
“We have a way out,” Abe said. “We just need some technical assistance.”
“Uh huh,” Deungjeong said. “I’m listening.”
“We go with the garbage skimmer,” Koethni said. “It runs nightly, fully automated.”
“Already came up during brainstorming of this mission, it’s weighed before launch and on arrival,” Deungjeong countered.
“Well, we can’t cheat it here,” Koethni continued. “We’ll have to get aboard after it departs the resort. And then we have to get into the hold, open it -”
“While it’s flying,” Deungjeong said.
“Obviously,” Koethni said. “Open it, dump enough waste to compensate for us, then close it back up.”
“And replace the tamper seal,” Deungjeong added. “From the outside. While you’re inside the hold. While it’s flying.” He thought. “Well, I guess you don’t need to do the seal if you’re gonna jump before it reaches the processing plant in the valley. Aim for a snow drift and hope you can outrun the manhunt on broken legs, I guess?”
“...815 would make it work,” Abe said, though he seemed reluctant to say it too loud.
“Yeah, well, we’re not 815,” Deungjeong said.
“The garbage skimmer flights have been canceled until further notice,” BONESAW weighed in via vox.
“And just when I was getting my hopes up,” Deungjeong said. He sighed. “What’s left? Didn’t see paragliding in the brochure.”
“We may have a new option,” BONESAW said.
“All ears,” Deungjeong said.
“The Kansat Manta has been ordered to break off its aerial patrol pattern and come in for landing,” BONESAW said. “We may be able to commandeer it.”
“Well, that’s convenient,” Deungjeong said. “What’s the occasion?”
“Prisoner transfer,” BONESAW said.
“...yeah, that tracks,” Deungjeong said. “Solutions from screw-ups, I guess that makes us officially 81X.” He turned to the two Bashakra’i operatives. “I don’t like our chances, but I like our chances staying here even less. You two up for it?”
“Of course,” Koethni answered.
“We’ll take as many with us as we can,” Abe said.
“Great,” Deungjeong said. “Loving the enthusiasm, but I’d rather you don’t. If this goes sideways, you need to be able to fade back into the crowd here. The next time we meet, it has to be when we already have our way out.”
“Where do we -” Abe began, but stopped when Deungjeong raised his left hand, tapping his vox with the other.
“What is it, auntie?” he asked, falling into that sickly sweet voice in a heartbeat.
“What do you think it is?” Dor replied, sounding just as prickly. “Khiraba Raa wants to speak to all three of us back at the outpost’s lounge about this…business with the Wherren. Are you just about done?”
“I’ll be up there in fifteen minutes, auntie,” Deungjeong said.
“Make it ten,” Dor replied, then cut the line.
“O-kay,” Deungjeong said, more to himself than the expectant Bashakra’i. He glanced at them both and shook his head. “Looks like this just isn’t a ‘plan’ kind of operation. Get ready to run towards the explosions, whenever they kick off.”

Abe and Koethni glanced at each other.

“Or you can wait for the next rescue mission,” Deungjeong suggested.
“...we’ll be there,” Abe said.

---

The first thing Deungjeong noticed on the way back up to the athletic outpost’s main station was that everyone else was heading back down on foot, not via the cable car, and given that there hadn’t been a widecast announcement from Steward Ogea about Happy Hour at the main resort, he figured that the crowd was moving not entirely of their own volition. Still, he walked steadily. For one, running away from this wouldn’t help; there was no advantage to hiding out below in the resort, no other way out. For two, if this was to be where Dor and Marta and he would confront the Khiraba, at least they’d have more of a shot at it than if they were split apart.

And finally, he was quite a ways past having a healthy fear of mortal danger.

The scene at the Hordad Lounge was a bad joke. The cable car was docked at the station, holos hovering around it to advertise that it was out of service. Dor and Marta were already seated at the only table still occupied, opposite Ita Raa and Harsa Iaron. Another woman was lingering near the bar, as if waiting to serve cocktails, but the stinger in her hand betrayed her as another Khiraba - Ngroni Kaorusaa, BONESAW whispered to him. Two more unaccounted for, Deungjeong thought, but probably busy dealing with Hulor and the Manta. Probably wouldn’t waste them on overwatch here, when they had everyone already dead to rights. They had even brought all the luggage from the lodge up here, apparently looking to have everything stripped. It looked like they hadn’t started searching it, though. He reckoned they’d already all be dead if the Khiraba had found BONESAW’s hardware in there. Still, Deungjeong counted steps from the door to the table, tried to do the math on the geometry of the place. 21 foot rule still applied on other planets, he hoped.

“Please, have a seat,” Ita said. “I think it’s time we talked.”
“...okay,” Deungjeong said, meekly stepping up and pulling out a chair next to Marta. “...what’s this about?” he asked. “Did…did Vaaj tell you something?”
“No, this is about you all,” Ita said.
Harsa smirked along. “After all,” he said, “your aunt’s such a fascinating character.”
“Why don’t you come out and say what you want to say, Khiraba Raa?” Dor said, sipping on her drink - a fresh drink, Deungjeong noticed. One of them must have gone to the trouble of serving it to her, and from the smirk on Harsa’s face, Deungjeong pegged him as the culprit. Ita might have enjoyed this bit of playing with her prey, but she wasn’t calibrated for cruelty like him.
“Very well,” Ita said. “Your son and his betrothed here are persons of interest in connection with the murder of Khiraba Tanas.”
“That’s nonsense and you know it,” Dor shot back. “Look. I’ve let you take my servant, I’ve let you make a complete mess of my vacation and I’ll answer any questions you have…but you do not need to drag my family into this. If the Viis have anything to answer for, it’s my duty to handle it.”
“I have all the answers I need from you,” Ita said. Her eyes remained fixed on Dor. “Harsa, I think Lady Viis would be happy to have a chance to continue her expensive vacation. Why don’t you show her to the crystal caves? Lovely this time of year, I’m told.”
“It would be my honor,” Harsa said, grinning like a shark.
“I don’t need to see any damn caves,” Dor said. “Or stretch my legs, or get fresh air, or any other nonsense.”
“...I’m afraid I must insist,” Harsa said. “I’ll help you with your bag, of course.”
“Go on, auntie,” Deungjeong said. “We’ll wait for you here.”

Dor finished her drink in a single draw.

“Oh, fine,” she said, putting the glass back down. Harsa moved to help her up from her chair, but Dor stood up by herself before he had a chance to reach her. She slid her bag off her shoulder and handed it to Harsa. “You’ll be hearing from our advocate, Khiraba Raa.”
“Of course,” Ita said.
“This way, Lady Viis,” Harsa said, offering her an arm. Dor didn’t take it, so eventually Harsa walked away, his smile never wavering. Dor followed him, throwing a last glance at Marta on her way out.

And then, it was just two on two.

“Now can we please drop the spinkshit,” Ita said.
“...what ‘spinkshit’?” Marta asked.
“Well, let’s see,” Ita began. “Conveniently hard to verify identities, your ‘auntie’ trying very hard to monopolize every conversation, your Wherren ‘servant’. That spinkshit. The only thing that threw me is that you two are clearly not Bashakra’i, and credit where credit is due, I didn’t think there were Narsai’i other than 81X who could even try to uphold a cover in broad daylight.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Deungjeong asked.
“I guess that would have been too easy,” Ita said. She shrugged. “But I don’t need you to confess anything right now. I’ll just arrest you, have you interrogated until you confess, and take the win.” She smiled. “People tell me I like winning a bit too much.”
“...what if you’re wrong?” Marta asked.
“I’m never wrong,” Ita said, her smile disappearing. “Keep acting stupid now if you want to. We’ll know everything soon enough.” Then, she chuckled. “But you don’t have to grovel or anything. Wouldn’t change things anyway. No, we’re all just going to sit here and wait for a bit.” She leaned back in her chair. “Do you want some drinks? I feel like buying today.”

VIII - A Hammer, Cocked

---

Well, Hulor figured, at least the waiting was over.

His eyes scrunched close at the approach of the Manta to the resort, turning to hover just above the lodge’s main terrace. The snow it kicked up wasn’t the worst - the impeller whining in his relatively pristine ears had that dubious honor - but the entire experience was slightly surreal nonetheless. Valoon and Manaj flanked him on either side, but neither seemed any more eager to climb aboard the Manta than he was. Mantas were not exactly spacious at the best of times and having a Wherren along for the ride would not improve things.

Hulor let them do their things, let them corral him up the ramp and onto a crasher, where the waiting Kansat strapped him down as best they could. They didn’t seem ready to transport a Wherren prisoner, all in all, and Hulor wondered if Valoon had left out that detail in their request because a) they genuinely didn’t think he’d try to escape, b) they had an unreasonable amount of faith in safety harnesses as prisoner restraints or c) they were for some reason looking forward to Hulor making the attempt.

Hulor settled on c). The way Valoon chose a crasher farthest away from him did nothing to dissuade him from that. But then again, that made two Khiraba and five Kansatai - plus the pilot up front - against one strapped-down, unarmed Wherren servant. Those were…not the best odds. And so Hulor figured he ought to play along a bit longer still and wait for his moment. With a few final hand signs, the Kansat attending to him signaled that everything was good to go; the Manta lurched upwards as its rear cargo ramp retracted and sealed. The Kansatai was apparently used to being on Manta duty; he rode the various bumps and sways of their ascent well enough, making his way to his crasher opposite Hulor and strapping in with a minimum of fumbling. The turbulence lessened as they gained a bit of altitude and airspeed. Indeed, for a moment there, things looked almost peaceful.

“What are you smiling about?” the Kansatai asked Hulor, drawing a suspicious glance from Manaj.
Hulor’s smile grew a bit more. “I hear it,” he said.

None of them had ears as good as Hulor, of course. But a few seconds later, they heard the little synth melody as well.

---

The crystal caves were lovely.

The path into them was a compromise between accessibility and preservation, as such things usually were, but the degree to which it was mostly the latter and not so much the former showed just how old in Imperial terms this attraction was. Several crystals were allowed to jut rather far into the tunnel, requiring some ducking and dodging to pass, and the handrails afforded to better navigate the damp walkway curved up and down and to the side where needed to avoid disturbing the big growths. It galled Dor quite a bit to be here under these circumstances, then, because absent the threat of imminent capture slash torture slash execution, she really would have liked to have come here and admire the caves for a good long while.

Instead this bootlicking Imperial stooge with delusions of intelligence was taking her deeper and deeper into the mountain, far enough behind her that she couldn’t jump him but not so far that she might have lost him at a dead sprint. As far as she knew, this was the only way in or out, anyway. Nowhere to run to.

Finally they came to the big showstopper, a large vault of brilliantly pale jade, tastefully lit from lights in the cave floor. It was a big enough space to have a small stage at the far side, with room for maybe three dozen chairs for an audience. Sure enough, Dor spotted a few stacks of collapsible chairs under a tarp in a less lit corner of the vault. Perhaps there were concerts here or poetry readings. Probably not so many executions, though. Hard to hose the blood out of a sandstone floor like this.

"Well now, Lady Viis," Harsa said, the stinger in his left hand almost an afterthought. "Looks like we are at an impasse."
Dor turned around to face him. "From over here it looks like you're aiming a gun at me," she countered. "Funny, huh? Same set of facts, very different views."
"That is why I consider us at an impasse," Harsa said. "By all rights I should shoot you and be done with it. But I am so rarely afforded a chance to speak to an eyewitness of a truly historic moment."
"Meaning?" Dor asked.
Harsa smiled. "Was it so easy to forget, then?" he said. "Watching your home burn. Watching your people end, for the good of the Imperium. Just who do you think you are kidding, really? Soon the last of the survivors will be dead and buried, and all that will remain of the Bashakra'i will be child soldiers spilling blood for a sad story their parents told them."
"You want to know what that's like?" Dor said, eyes fixed on Harsa's face. "What do you think it's like?"
"Enlighten me," Harsa said. "I want to hear it from you. Tell me."
"See, Harsa, I think that's your problem," Dor said. She chanced taking a few steps towards the stage; Harsa's gun followed her, but he didn't shoot. "You can't even imagine what it's like."
"Who could," Harsa said, his face still stuck in a smile. "How could anyone begin to imagine such a singular act of devastation, such a tragedy -"
"Cliché," Dor cut him off. "That's all you got. You're supposed to be the guy who finds people's buttons and pushes them, yes?"
"I am that guy," Harsa said.
"No, you're just a walking, talking hodgepodge of regurgitated trauma without a single original bone in your body," Dor said. “You like talking? Well, you’re in fucking luck. I like talking, too.”

She stepped towards Harsa. He backed away, reflexively.

"What have you seen?" Dor said. "What have you felt? Nothing. No wonder you're so thirsty for hearing other people's suffering. It's the only way you can get even close to feeling something in yourself." Her smile grew as his faded. "But it's not enough, is it? Maybe this time, maybe this story - except you know it won't be." She spat onto the cold rock beneath her. "You could interrogate me for weeks, make me tell you about every second of the burning of Bashakra - and you would still not find what you're looking for. Longing for. A connection to something, anything worth giving a damn about."
Harsa chuckled. "So what?" he said. "You're calling me a sociopath?"
"I'm calling you a coward," Dor said.
"Now who's spouting cliches?" he asked. "I suppose now you'll try to convince me that only a coward would hide behind a gun and that we should settle this in honorable single combat? Maybe with those knives you Bashakra'i love so much?"
"Taking any advantage you can get is the first thing any Bashakra'i would do," Dor said. "No, Harsa. I'm not talking about that stinger. Hold onto that for all the good it’ll do you. I'm talking about the one feeling you actually know, but are too scared to use." She smirked. "That emptiness inside you. If you were anything like me, you could have used it."

Another step forward for her, another step back for him.

"You don't know what it's like for me because you were born empty," Dor said. "But I’ve been on the other side, where you can never go. I used to be happy and sad and angry. Wouldn’t you love to feel just one of those? But don’t get too envious just yet. I lost all that when you and yours burned my home. Instead I got this pain. Are you freaky enough for that, Harsa? I bet you are. I bet you’d love to care about something enough to have that pain. Well, this one wouldn’t help you. This pain I got is too big to hurt. When you get saddled with something this awful, you just can't process it. Been decades and it’s still stuck with me. Sometimes small bits and pieces come through and you cry because crying's the only thing you can do..."
"Yes," Harsa muttered.
"But then you get the fuck on with it," Dor said. "I get on with paying you bastards back with interest. It gives me a reason to get out of bed in the morning and not just jump out of the nearest airlock. They tell me I have over five thousand Turai, Khiraba and Kansatai to my name. Couple hundred civilians as well. If it goes tick tick boom, I probably had a hand in it. And I feel nothing about it. Nothing I could feel can ever get past that moment, past that second where all I saw, all I felt was the fire."

She stepped forward one more time. Harsa did what she expected him to do.

"So kill me or don't," she said. "But as long as I live, more of your people are going to die. Loyal banner brothers, good spouses, loving parents? Save that shit for your holos, I don't give a fuck. They fight for the thing that destroyed who I was. You think our people are dead? Well, I guess in a way you are talking to a ghost, Harsa. A ghost that'll keep haunting the Jade Throne you're paid to defend. Because the only way I'll stop is when I get rid of literally every last one of you fuckers. And even I'm not that efficient."
"Well then," Harsa said. His grip on the stinger steadied. "I'll take your lecture under advisement. Any pithy last words, then?"
"Yeah," Dor said. "Rainbird."

Harsa didn’t understand. The hidden explosive in Dor’s handbag did.

IX - 81X’s Wild Ride

---

“What the -” Manaj managed to say, turning her head as if to search the Manta for the source of the music even though it was blatantly, obviously coming from the Manta’s own speakers. Everyone else seemed to be looking around, too, on the same fruitless search. Everyone except Hulor and Valoon, who shared a quick glance across the manta’s interior.

Then the drumline kicked in, sputtering the port engine in time with the beat.

It was one of those situations where the wisdom of strapping in became immediately apparent; the Manta first sheared to the side, then rolled over and corrected and rolled more, just as a little treat for everyone aboard. Loose gear went flying, including two stingers from unprepared hands.

THIS IS YOUR TIME TO PAY

Hulor was loose.

“Vidas fuck-” Manaj spat out as the adrenaline took over her arm and brought her stinger up. Hulor danced to the side, smashing the heads of two seated Kansat against each other as he went; Manaj fired her stinger into nothing. In a half second, Hulor grabbed her arm by the wrist and then spun in along it, snapping her arm in half at the elbow with a palm strike.

THIS IS YOUR JUDGMENT DAY

The port engine kicked into full reverse. The manta, already tumbling, decided to experiment with some bold new directions to fling everyone in. Hulor cannonballed half the length of the cabin, taking Manaj’s arm and the stinger with it. One of the Kansat had managed to stand up; Hulor slammed into him, crushing his ribs even through the armor. The momentum carried Hulor further still to Valoon. His claws dug into the Khiraba’s chest armor, ripped them from the crasher and then spiked them to the ground.

WE’VE MADE A SACRIFICE AND NOW WE CAME TO TAKE YOUR LIVES

Hulor had rarely been more glad to have gone into this hungry. Being strapped into a flying paint-shaker was not high on his list of must-have experiences, though he had heard General Walks-the-Fire speak of ‘rollercoasters’, which were apparently a thing Narsai’i did for fun. Right there, he gained some respect for them. Another thrust reverse, seemingly timed just as his weight shifted again. The Kansat before him had his sword out and lunged -

WE SHOOT WITHOUT A GUN, WE’LL TAKE ON ANYONE

Hulor slapped the flat of the blade aside with his left arm and grabbed the sword-arm’s wrist with his right. He spun in place, dragging the Kansat with him, then pushed forward. The Kansat’s helm, caught between the bulkhead and Hulor’s elbow, didn’t burst, not quite - but it broke the Kansat’s skull well enough.

“SOMEBODY STOP IT!” Manaj heard herself scream.

IT’S REALLY NOTHING NEW, IT’S JUST A THING WE LIKE TO DO

The penultimate Kansat got the bright idea to kick Hulor. Well, it had seemed like a bright idea to her a moment ago, not so much when Hulor caught her booted foot in his hand and pulled her in by it. This time his striking hand went for the thigh, ramming his claws past the edge of the carapace’s armor plate into her femoral artery. He pushed her off to leave the rest to the blood loss, then grabbed a fallen sword from the ground and advanced on the survivors.

Manaj, against all odds, was one of them, utterly defeated by trying to exit the crasher with only one arm to work the straps and about a liter’s worth of blood from the stump turning everything slick. Hulor looked at her briefly, then raised the sword to drive it through her head. That windup left her just enough time to piss her pants.

YOU BETTER GET READY TO DIE

---

“...what was that,” Ita said. She was disciplined enough not to crane her neck after the distant thud echoing over the mountain; her eyes stayed glued to the two persons of interest across the table from her.
“Ita, there’s…there’s smoke,” Ngroni stammered from the bar.
Ita heard her footsteps close in. She still didn’t turn around, but she did reach for the vox clipped to her ear. “Harsa, what’s your status?” she asked. “Harsa, what is your status?” she repeated. “Khiraba Iaron, respond.”

The only thing Ita heard was a gurgle. Now she turned, just catching sight of a metal spider…thing on Ngroni’s shoulder. Ngroni had a hand on the robot, but the robot had a blade through her neck. Ita was weak for a second there. She couldn’t look away from the death of the woman who had loved her so desperately. She watched Ngroni topple to the side, right onto the marble floor, with nothing to stop her fall.

That’s how they’d gotten Mauon, too. Looked nothing like any security drone she’d ever seen. Sheen shell? If they were rebels, that was in the cards. Sheen would explain a lot.

For a moment, Ita hated that she was in enough of her right mind to deduce that. Then she snapped up her stinger from its holster. The robot tried to scurry away, but Ita was a damn good shot. Damn good. Nailed it in one. The little robot, Sheen though it might be, wasn’t nearly tough enough to take a dead-on flechette burst and keep on ticking; it exploded in a showy little shower of sparks. Probably a scuttle charge triggered to prevent anyone from picking useful technical intelligence from the wreck. Again, points toward Sheen. Vidas fucking Lam, Ita, she screamed at herself, even as her mind raced through all the implications. Get your head back to -

Something crashed into her. She assessed it as her chair toppled under the sudden impact. Human, stocky build, probably the male. Reflexes kicked in and Ita rolled with it. Not quite enough momentum to convert into a slam, but she managed to almost get him between herself and the floor before they both hit it. Barely felt the impact through her carapace, even, so she just had to stop herself from rolling around with him. Tap the ground, free elbow against where she suspected his face was, follow up with a low sweep kick. Didn’t connect? Okay, he had ridden the momentum, rolled away. Opened it up enough to get the stinger -

MOVE

Ita felt the strike from her off side coming. Right, the woman was in play, too. Ita brought up her left arm, flicked her armored glove right past the strike into the attacker’s face. The woman had no momentum to speak of, stumbled back instead. Back to the male - he was facing her - bring the stinger up - that was too obvious. He ducked and spun under it. Shot went wide, his foot came round so damn quick, kicked the stinger right out of her hand. Damn it, Ita!

MOVE

The woman swung a piece of hardcase luggage at her. Very original, but still more than Ita wanted to block. Jumped a half-step back, hit the table, table started to tip - Ita rolled with it, over it. The table toppled over when she was already off it again, feet finding the ground and digging for purchase. Somehow she was upright now, steady again. Across the fallen table, the male was fixing her with a gaze. Putting himself in front of the woman. Okay, Ita reckoned. One with self-defense training, one with a bit…more than that.

“You’ll pay for that,” she promised.

---

YOU BETTER GET READY TO KILL

The last Kansat in the Manta’s rear was proving to be shockingly competent. Which is to say she got a good read on Hulor’s first lunge and ducked under it. What she didn’t anticipate was a knee strike cracking her helm’s faceplate. Hulor wasn’t exactly fluent in Waewaetanga - the Wave-Riders didn’t do much organized teaching of that - but the surprise of a Wherren delivering any kind of kick was still enough to catch the Kansat off guard. She stumbled back and Hulor followed her fall with his foot, stomping down on the fallen Kansat’s helm. The crunch was loud enough to even cut through the music.

YOU BETTER GET READY TO RUN, ‘CAUSE HERE WE COME

There was nobody left to fly the Manta. Which didn’t mean the cockpit was empty, though; the pilot was still in her seat, but slumped to the side. Blood was dripping from the back of her crasher, from where BONESAW had stabbed through it. Its saboteur shell was sitting on the console in front of her, tendrils hooked into the Manta’s flight controls. The music went from blasting the interior to playing in the background.

your life is over now, your life is running out

"That’s two you owe me now," BONESAW said.
"What about -" Hulor began.
"Oh, they’re our next stop," BONESAW said. "Lost my spare shell digging them out of their no-win scenario. I hope they’re hanging in there."

“Well, isn’t this precious,” Valoon said.

when your time is at an end

Hulor turned to see them all the way in the back, aiming their stinger across the Manta’s interior at him. Mothers and fathers! Hulor had moved to eliminate the threats coming at him, but Valoon hadn’t fought back, had been content to take the fall and gamble that Hulor was too busy to follow up. And now, they had Hulor and BONESAW dead to rights.

then it’s time to kill again

---

Deungjeong didn’t have a neat angel-devil pairing on his respective shoulders. What he had was Smart Jimmy and Brave Jimmy and, like most times, Brave Jimmy won. The plan, if it could be called that, came to Deungjeong in his leap over the table, way past the point where he had already committed.

1) Keep the bitch busy while Marta grabs one of the guns.
2) Get the fuck out of the line of fire.
3) Don’t get any splashes of hot blood on unprotected skin.

Simple enough.

The vault turned into a spin turned into a 540 hook kick that Deungjeong had no idea how to land with; it was just as well that Ita got her arms up in time to block it. Deungjeong’s weak leg shot out from its chamber, driving his heel into her now open stomach. Or, well, the armor plate. Deungjeong immediately forgot that it hurt, got a hand on the floor and tumbled with it, ducking into a roll. By the time he had turned and positioned himself to spring towards Ita, her block was just coming down.

Don’t let her think.

He granted her left hook the right of way, ducking under for a spinning side kick. Again he drove his heel into her stomach, forcing her back. Either he’d get some bruising through and throw her off her own game, or he’d get her to block lower and clear her head - the only really unprotected target on her - for a decisive blow. But here she was again, already closing in, low block stopping his front kick. Deungjeong read the next straight punch off her shoulders, brought his arms up and braced. This, he realized a little too late, was bad. He softened the brunt of her punch, but the gauntlets scraping over his forearms tore bloody gashes through his clothes and skin.

Brave Jimmy wasn’t daunted, but Smart Jimmy told him the timer was ticking down fast.

Good thing Marta picked this moment to yell.

---

“Get down!” Marta shouted.

Clawing the stinger from Ngroni’s dead hand wasn’t quite the grossest thing she’d done for work, but it was definitely top three…top five? Hard to know how to count the bodies from the Bucharest job. She hadn’t signed on to fight, not precisely, but if it turned out that she had to kill, well, that could be arranged. Deungjeong obligingly fell on his ass trying to land another kick on Ita, clearing Marta’s line of fire nicely. No time for a full Murtaugh neck roll, but still she squared up, put the holosights on Ita and squeezed the trigger.

All that accomplished was to change the holosights from green to blue. The IFF!

Fuck fuck fuck

X - The Opposite Of Smooth

---

“A rebel Wherren and a Sheen,” Valoon said, licking their lips. “Thank you for laying your cards on the table. Now this is a catch worthy of my time.”

Hulor looked down at the corpses of the Kansat and Manaj, then back to Valoon.

“They all died for your glory,” Hulor said.
“I’ll make sure they have a nice funeral,” Valoon said. “Now, you two. Don’t move, don’t try that stunt flying shit again. I’m braced and I will put a full magazine into you before you can cover the distance. Understand?”
“Yes,” Hulor said, staying in place. “I understand.”
“I meant it when I said I wanted to keep playing with you,” Valoon said. “My partner over there felt sorry for you, you know? Had her doubts. Wanted to get to the real culprit of the murder.”

Their partner. At Hulor’s feet.

“You found it,” Hulor said. BONESAW skittered into sight, tendrils stretching behind the spider.
“Hey,” BONESAW chirped. “Nice ink.”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion, machine,” Valoon spat back.

Then the music turned back up.

WE CUT WITHOUT A KNIFE

“I think that trick has run its course,” Valoon said. “Turn it off.”

WE LIVE IN BLACK AND WHITE

“Seriously,” Valoon said.

YOU’RE JUST A PARASITE

“You got it,” BONESAW said. “I’m turning it off.”

NOW CLOSE YOUR EYES AND SAY GOODNIGHT

To its credit, BONESAW did what it said it would do. It turned it off. The whole Manta, that is.

---

A plan is just a list of things that don’t happen. Marta was moving on to improvising then.

IFF-blocked stinger in one hand and ice bucket from the bar in the other, Marta ran towards the fighting. Deungjeong was on the ground, about to get stomped by Ita, so Marta did what anyone not in their right mind would have done and skidded to a stop, using the momentum to swing her arm out and hurl the bucket at Ita. Ita turned her head just before impact, but couldn’t block it in time. Now the bucket wasn’t particularly big or heavy and the armor sucked up what little impact it had, but it got Ita off balance for a moment, enough time for Marta to close the last few steps. The gun in her hand wouldn’t fire, but it was hard and hefty enough to make for a decent club - one she brought down on Ita’s head. First blow snapped Ita’s head to the side, the second went wide, the third Ita somehow got her hand into the swing’s trajectory - but the interior of the glove wasn’t armored much at all, and Marta thought she could hear a finger or two snap out its MCP joint.

Like many good things, Marta’s series of attacks ended when she ate a low wheel kick. There was just enough Judo in her to break the fall and not bonk the back of her head against the floor, but it was only adrenaline that rolled her away from the follow-up. So now Marta was on her belly and Ita was on her and -

Deungjeong came back in with one beautiful flying tackle. He pushed Ita off Marta and onto the floor, didn’t even wait for them to finish rolling into the kitchen before he slammed a fist up past the carapace plate and glanced off Ita’s nose. Ita was just stunned enough to end on the bottom of their mutual tumble, and Deungjeong didn’t ask how that had happened. He had some more punches to throw.

Step One: Ground. Step Two: Pound.

He wasn’t getting through, though. Cut his fists and bruised his knuckles, he did plenty of that, but he couldn’t get past Ita’s arms. First they were just blocking, then they took the centerline and by the time Deungjeong realized that she was making a grab for his collar, it was almost too late. He let himself drop back and rolled off before Ita could throw him off; too slow still, as she sunk a kick into his shoulder and dropped him on his ass. Deungjeong rolled, rolled, rolled, as if he could dodge the pain.

Ita didn’t get past sitting up, though, because Marta was back, this time with one of the chairs. Channeling her best Wrestlemania memories, Marta slammed the chair down by its legs, bouncing Ita’s back off the marble floor. Another kick from Ita but Marta was smart to it now, jumping back to avoid it - then realizing it put her out of range to follow up, too. She charged in again, but Ita was kneeling now and in the face of Marta’s charge, she just started up with full force - one arm brushed the chair to the side, the other rocketed into Marta’s gut. Marta fell past Ita, barely rolled to save her face from the ground and then laid there. Arms wrapped around her middle, gasping like she was trying to suck a whole damn breath through a straw. She could barely move when Ita stood over her, could only flinch when Ita stomped down - catching the Khiraba’s boot on her thigh. The pain shot right through the adrenaline. Marta didn’t close her eyes, though, kept trying to reroute power to her muscles, get back into this fight. Ita raised her leg.

And then it was Ita’s turn to eat a sweep against her standing leg. Deungjeong finally got a reverse roundhouse in just the way he wanted, a good old shark kick right to the joint, and no amount of armor or padding could stop the impact from bending Ita’s knee the way knees don’t like to bend. Adios, ACL. Ita toppled, but tucked it into a roll. Deungjeong chased her and almost ate a sword for it, barely managing to clear the circle of blood as Ita swept wide. This was now the second time he hadn’t remembered the salient facts about Imperial equipment and he was damn sure there wouldn’t be a third time no matter how this fight would shake out. Still, so much for pretty much any option; he’d been using surprise and the range of his kicks, still had the better mobility, but he just wasn’t getting through with anything but the most dead-on attacks and he was sure as hell not getting past Ita’s sword without his own weapon. Should have stopped at the javelin range for a spear.

Coulda woulda shoulda are not your friends, Jimmy. Figure it out.

---

YOU BETTER GET READY TO DIE

The Manta was falling. So was everything in it. Also, it was pitch black inside.

Hulor was suddenly very, very grateful for zero-G combat training.

YOU BETTER GET READY TO KILL

He juked to the right and thus did Valoon’s first shot fly past him, splattering flechettes against the bulkhead between the Manta’s passenger compartment and cockpit. Hulor decided he’d rather have a shield than sheer luck for the next shot; fortunately, dead bodies with Imperial IFF were in good supply. He grabbed one and held it in front of him, while his foot found purchase on a crasher. He was just about to push off when the Manta’s impellers turned on again. Hulor knew he had to fall one way or another, so he tumbled forward, rolling himself closer to where Valoon had to be.

YOU BETTER GET READY TO RUN, ‘CAUSE HERE WE COME, OH OH

Enough of an opening for Valoon’s stinger to briefly release the lock, but not enough to fire; instead, Hulor faintly saw the holosight on it flashing blue. Not enough to see Valoon, but enough to know where they were. Hulor swung the body in his claws like an oversize flail, knocking Valoon’s stinger from their hand and forcing the Khiraba back. On his next charge, Hulor’s ears served him well once more - he hadn’t seen Valoon deploy their sword, but he had heard it, and, well, that body in his hand wasn’t getting any deader from having a sword run through it. Hulor twisted his human shield to the side, ripping the sword from Valoon’s hand, then sent a straight punch to where he knew Valoon had to be. Solid hit, enough to bruise Hulor’s knuckles and send Valoon flying.

Also enough to bounce Valoon’s hand off the emergency release for the rear door, apparently. Just the first crack was enough to flood the whole scene with new light and new noise and new, icy winds.

YOU BETTER GET READY TO DIE

XI - A Welcome Most Overstayed

---

Ita Raa wasn’t ready to die. Vidas fucking Lam, those Narsai’i had done a number on her. And now it seemed like she wasn’t going to win this her way, even if in the abstract she already had; had kept them busy almost long enough, just needed to keep them busy a bit longer, until reinforcements could come and overwhelm them. Take them away, away from her. Steal her victory. She seethed, grit her teeth, scooched her back against the cabinet with the autochef on top and pointed her sword at the male. He tried to step side to side in front of her, probing her reactions from just out of reach, but she could see him sway. A few more good knocks…or one good slash.

“Come on,” she spat. “I’m almost done with you. Last chance to die for your precious homeworld.”
“Can’t we just…” the male coughed. “...call it a draw?”
“A draw,” Ita said. “A draw? You come to myplanet, murder my comrades, and now you dare to whimper for a DRAW?! What mercy do you imagine you will find in my heart, you thought-starved, honorless, rocks-and-sticks savage?”
“So,” the male said, and his stance firmed up. She watched him pick a silver serving tray from an empty table and weigh its insubstantial nothingness in his hand. “That’s a…that’s a no, then?”

Vidas FUCKING Lam!

Ita exploded off the ground. Screw physics and biomechanics, one good leg was all that she needed to dash forward, leading with her sword. It was aimed right at the savage’s heart, forced on its unstoppable trajectory by the sheer power of Ita’s hate. It would fly true, it would pierce his chest and it would shut him up for good, and if it somehow, SOMEHOW failed at that, Ita wouldn’t admit defeat. No, she would travel ten thousand worlds to where even the Masters feared to tread, to the place that ruled all of this, and whoever lorded over that domain, she’d beat some first-damned sense into them. And then come back to this moment and finish the fight.

The male put the tablet up like a shield. A child’s idea of power, a talisman to keep away the beasts of night, maybe, but Ita’s sword pierced clean through it, as she knew it would. As it should. Finally, things were starting to work like they ought to, finally she -

- saw something thin slip over her version, top to bottom. And then she was yanked back.

---

YOU BETTER GET READY TO DIE

Everything seemed to be blowing past Valoon as the Manta shot forward with a sharp thrust. Bodies, unsafed cargo - weapons. Their own stinger was long gone, but oh look, there were spares coming their way. Million to one but they managed to pluck a stinger right out of the flight. They glanced towards the Wherren, tried to get the weapon pointed. Saw the Wherren do the same trick, except with a flying sword. Just…snatched it right out of the air by the hilt. What were the odds -

GET READY TO DIE

Hulor was still grinning at his own stroke of luck when he felt the pinpricks in his side. The holosight on Valoon’s stinger was green. Not blue. Green. They had pulled the trigger and scored a hit, past Hulor’s luck, past the human shield, past the strong hands of the Mothers and Fathers that had protected Hulor through many a hunt. It wasn’t so much pain as confusion that spread through him now, trying to somehow pack the whole experience and its contest onto that way too small You Got Shot shelf in his mind.

IT’S BEEN A LONG TIME COMIN’

Valoon took too long to register that they had actually hit the Wherren. Their brain sent the order to fire again. Maybe .15 seconds, that, to get all the way to their hand. Masters know how many fractions of a second more for that trigger finger to bend far enough. Irrelevant, in any event. By the time the nerves got the message passed down to the hand, the hand wasn’t there anymore.

NOW YOU BETTER GET RUNNIN’

A fine sword, Hulor thought. The wrist armor on that carapace wasn’t the best, obviously - joints never were. But to just go right through the whole wrist in one stroke, that needed a good balance of sharpness and stiffness. Good trophy. Where was Valoon’s hand, then? And the stinger? Probably already sucked out. Which was -

“Wait!” Valoon shouted.

Even Hulor’s ears weren’t good enough for that, but he could read their lips just fine. They shouted it a few more times, too, even as Hulor grabbed them by the armor. He gave himself a moment to consider what to do, then remembered that the mountain deserved its share for a bountiful hunt, too. And, well, that open rear door was right there.

AND YOU BETTER Get ready to …

The sound was lost in the wind as Valoon fell. The wind smacked them around, tossed them up and down in the wake of the Manta’s impellers before gravity fully took over. The white that filled their view was pristine. It wouldn’t stay that way.

...die

---

Next time, Marta promised herself, I’m packing a proper garotte.

The cord from the autochef had its pros, no doubt. Wrapped around Ita’s neck, with Marta pulling back with all her might and her foot on Ita’s back to push further, it didn’t snap, and that was probably more than could be asked of most monofilaments. The con was that Marta just couldn’t get it tight enough, couldn’t get a good enough grip on it to pull harder, and Ita struggling to buck her was not helping. Even Deungjeong was somehow still occupied here, keeping a death grip on the tablet, trying to twist Ita’s sword from her hand. Marta could almost feel Wild Bill Donovan glare down on her from heaven, despairing at the state of the OSS’s legacy. How fucking hard is it to take down one glorified sentry, Agent Jiminez?

Ita made one final move to surge forward and throw Marta off, just in time for Deungjeong to remember he had legs. He gave her a good knee to the face, a dead-on nose buster, and it stunned her long enough for Marta to change up her stance. Foot off Ita, whip and twist the cord around her own forearm for better grip, then turn into it and pull the whole production over her shoulder. Marta arched her back and leaned forward, trying to pull Ita off the ground. Trying. Trying.

Ita threw her weight to the side and spun up a kick at Deungjeong in the bargain. Deungjeong caught it and with it, helped lift Ita further. Just a bit more…a bit more…but Ita threw her head back, hitting Marta’s head with it. They both went tumbling down, went rolling the way the cord was slung over Marta’s shoulder. Just luck, or a final calculated effort to get free?

Marta wasn’t having it.

Using the brief moment of slack, Marta whipped another loop of cord around her forearms, tightened the noose as hard as she could, stopped the two of them rolling back to back when she was on top and Ita wasn’t. Ita still twitched under her, but pinned under Marta, there were no cards left to play. Marta arched her back that bit more, pulled her arms that bit closer to her chest, grit her teeth against the cord eating at her shoulder, against all the little aches and the cold and this whole damn place.

“GAH!” Marta shouted, and that was the final pull. Something under gave finally gave out. The struggle was over.

It took about three years for Marta to unclench her teeth and her eyes and her hands. She saw Deungjeong hover over her, flapping his mouth.

“what,” Marta croaked. Oh God, she thought. This is what I sound like when I’m dead.
“Let go,” Deungjeong said.
“What,” Marta repeated.
“Let go,” Deungjeong said. “You can let go now.”

Marta looked up at him. She didn’t say “Really?” but she looked at him as if she was saying it.

“She’s dead,” Deungjeong confirmed.
“...you sure?” Marta said.
“Uh, yeah,” Deungjeong said. “She’s dead.”

Marta caught the implication that it would not be good for her sleep hygiene to confirm this for herself. Instead, she slowly let go of the cord, tried to ignore the red streaks on her fingers and forearms and just focus on getting some air back into her lungs and then pick herself off the ground. Nice and slow. Deungjeong held out his own messed-up hand to her, helping to pull her to her feet.

“Are you kids done now?” someone called.

Marta and Deungjeong looked to the entrance of the Hordad Lounge. That was easy; all they had to do was follow the swath of destruction their fight with Ita had left. Deungjeong’s uncle worked construction, so he could just tell that this was one of those “tear out the floor and start over” jobs. But more to the point, there was Dor Hama, standing in the entrance, a trickle of blood from her cheek and a stinger in her hand.

“Dor?” Marta said.
“Yeah, that’s my name,” Dor said.
“You take care of Harsa?” Deungjeong asked.
“Gave him a nice burial,” Dor confirmed. She was favoring her right leg as she walked in. “Slight miscalculation on the frag radius. Didn’t account for the damn rocks.” She breathed. “Vidas Lam, is that all of them now?”
“It is,” BONESAW confirmed via vox. “Hulor and I are okay, too. Had a bit of a shakeup in the Manta. We’re coming in to pick you up, stand by one.”
“That’s great,” Dor said. “So, about those lives we wanted to save -”
“Made contact with both of them,” Deungjeong said. “Told them to run towards the explosion when they hear it, so I figure they’ll be along shortly.”
“How’d you know there’d be an explosion?” Dor asked.
“Call it a hunch,” Deungjeong said, putting on a grin.
“A hunch,” Dor said. “I don’t like those. I prefer facts.”

Before either of the two Narsai’i could respond, Dor aimed her stinger at Ita’s body - and fired twice. There was no last shout, no twitch, just bundles of hot flechettes eating through armor and meat.

“Where’s the other one?” Dor asked, looking around. “Ah, nevermind.”
“How’d you -” Marta asked, only to be cut off by the sound of one more buzzsaw burst. That one took Ngroni’s head off more or less cleanly. Flinching away from it got her a good look at Ita’s mangled body. So much for sleep hygiene.
“Why do you think it took so long to get here?” Dor said. “Limp’s only half the excuse. Figured I’d better get myself a working weapon before showing back here. Sorry about missing the fight, but there’s fuck all I could’ve done without the Pantaki.”
“I’m sure you would’ve thought of something,” Deungjeong said.
“...even I run out of tricks sometime,” Dor said. She walked over to the pile of luggage and grabbed a piece. “Come on.”

XII - Did You Think It Was Over

---

The denouement in front of the Hordad Lounge was, to say the least, less dramatic than the previous few minutes. As Deungjeong had predicted, the two Bashakra’i operatives had indeed made their way up the mountain. Introductions were just wrapping up when the Manta finally came in, turning to land on what signs indicated to be a “romantic” outdoor ice-skating rink, closed for being out of season and accordingly iceless. The rear door popped open while the impellers were still firing, keeping the Manta hovering for a quick getaway. Standing at the ramp was Hulor, his left side covered with (in order) an extra-extra-large auto-sealing wound patch, a piece of carapace plating to hold down the not-so-sealed patch against his fur and a couple loops of crasher straps to keep everything in place and tight against his body. A glance into the Manta showed, well, what happens when a Wherren warrior gets to work in close quarters.

“Looks like we all took some knocks,” Deungjeong commented. “Ugh, it stinks.”
“Didn’t have time to clean it out, sorry,” BONESAW said.
“I received lessons from some…enthusiastic teachers,” Hulor replied.
“What’d you learn?” Deungjeong asked.
”To kill Khiraba quickly,” Hulor answered.
“...that’s a good lesson,” Deungjeong said.
“Save it for the AAR,” Marta cut in, schlepping two bags with her and tossing them deeper into the Manta, where Abe and Koethni got busy strapping all the loose bits down for a hopefully less eventful ride. “BONESAW, are we good?”
“You have my server,” BONESAW confirmed. “And the -”
“Right here,” Dor said, shaking a takeout bag’s worth of slagged saboteur shell parts.
“Any emergency calls go out?” Marta asked.
“Would have, but the Steward’s blocking them,” BONESAW asked. “And broadcasting a speech that nobody should be concerned, since everything is under control by his good friend Ita Raa.”
“And why’s he doing that?” Deungjeong asked.
“Because Ita Raa asked him nicely, or at least he thinks she did,” BONESAW said. “He really shouldn’t have fallen for it. I mean, voice messages are so insecure. Especially if you were right there when the person you’re trying to imitate was giving a nice speech with all sorts of useful phonemes.”
“Creepy, but useful,” Deungjeong said. “Good job, BONESAW.”
“Easy peasy,” BONESAW said. “Now, everyone find an empty, intact crasher, please.”

Abe and Koethni were already strapped in, of course, followed shortly by Dor, who was only slowed down by her injuries. Marta and Deungjeong followed, and everyone breathed a collective sigh when the rear door closed and the Manta ascended again. Everything was quiet then, which was nice. So nice, in fact, that it couldn’t last for more than thirty seconds.

“We may have a problem,” BONESAW said.
“Let’s solve it, then,” Marta said. “What’s up?”
“So,” BONESAW said, “remember the shakeup in the Manta I mentioned?”
“I already hate where this is going,” Deungjeong said.
“Yeah, somebody was watching,” BONESAW said. “And now they want to know what’s up. I’ll put it on speaker.”
“Akwhela-4, Khabosai Center, come in,” the voice on the other end said. It was a nice, neutral voice, clearly articulated with clipped tones and a bland pan-Imperial accent. The voice of every air traffic controller across the universe. “Akwhela-4, come in. We are not briefed on your current movement. Respond on this channel immediately.”
“Can you try to talk them down?” Deungjeong asked.
“So, I can fly this,” BONESAW said. “But I don’t exactly have a license. And I’ve never had to get clearance or anything from anyone.” It paused. “I swear I’ll look it up for next time, but right now -”
“Well, shit,” Deungjeong said. “Anybody here that speaks flyboy?”
“I do,” Koethni said.
“...so you’re a flying sous chef spy?” Deungjeong asked.
“My girlfriend’s an Interceptor,” Koethni offered.
“Okay,” Deungjeong said. “All yours.”

Koethni nodded, then unstrapped herself, stepped into the cockpit and took the empty, but bloodstained pilot’s seat. After strapping in, she turned her head towards BONESAW’s shell.

“Can you make me sound like that Khiraba?” she asked. “Like Raa?”
“Done and done,” BONESAW said. “Go ahead.”
Koethni keyed the vox controls on the panel before her. “Khabosai Center, go for Akwhela-4,” she said.
“Akwhela-4, we show deviation from your flight plan,” the control voice said. “Say intentions.”
“Khabosai Center, Akwhela-4,” Koethni said, “This is Khiraba Ita Raa in command of this vessel. Disregard previous flight plan. We are carrying high-value prisoners for immediate interrogation. Request vector for orbital burn and departure clearance on the scheduled gateway to…”
“Dantumi, 1745,” Marta suggested.
“Dantumi at one-seven-four-five system time,” Koethni added.

Silence on the channel.

“You know, you could just ask me to save the gateway departure schedules,” BONESAW said. “Which is going right on my todo list, by the way.”
“Then we’ll both know it next time,” Marta said. “Nothing personal, BONESAW. Just like to know my options when I’m out in the field.”
“Hey, I’m not complaining,” BONESAW said.
“Anything moving towards us?” Deungjeong asked.
“Not yet,” BONESAW said.
“Well, you see any killdrones, let me know,” Deungjeong said.
“Akwhela-4, Khabosai Center,” the voice came back, “copy your request. Flight plan was filed for Rav-Kansat Teruis in command of this vessel, require their confirmation.”
“It’s a trap,” Dor weighed in. “BONESAW, did any of the IFFs from the Kansat aboard identify as Teruis?”
“Yes, actually,” BONESAW said.
Dor harrumphed.
“Never hurts to check,” Marta said.
“Khabosai Center, unable,” Koethni said. “Rav-Kansat Terius and her trin stayed behind at the resort for crowd control. Vox blackout is in effect for the resort by the Steward’s personal authority, but I was given an authorization code to commandeer this vessel in the name of the Throne.”
“Copy, Akwhela-4,” the voice said. “Standing by to verify auth code.”
“Khabosai Center,” Koethni said, “verify auth code Toth-Five-Nine-Zakhan.”

More of that very uncomfortable silence.

“That was the code, right?” Koethni said.
“It was,” Abe confirmed.
“This week’s code,” Koethni said.
“This week’s code,” Abe confirmed.
“Because I’ll feel very silly if that was last week’s code,” Koethni said.
“Wouldn’t put it past Ogea to change them and forget to tell anybody,” Abe said.
“Uh, sidebar,” Deungjeong said, “do they have anything that can shoot us down without any warning?”
“Yes,” BONESAW answered.
“Okay,” Deungjeong said.
“Did you want details?” BONESAW said.
“Nope!” Deungjeong said.
“Akwhela-4, Toth-Five-Nine-Zakhan verified, clearance follows,” the voice said. “Turn right heading One-Four-Zero and maintain altitude. Proceed direct IONAS. When you pass IONAS, altitude restrictions are cancelled. From there, you are cleared for direct ascent to low standard orbit. After you transition the entry interface, contact Khabosai Orbital channel Eight-Two for gateway vectors and departure clearance.”
“Khabosai Center, Akwhela-4,” Koethni said, “turn right One-Four-Zero, maintain and proceed direct IONAS, burn to low standard, contact Orbital Eight-Two for vectors and departure clearance.”
“Akwhela-4, readback correct,” the voice replied. “Monitor this channel for further advisories.” The voice paused. “And Khiraba Raa…next time we call, please answer promptly.”
“Affirmative, Khabosai Center,” Koethni said. “Akwhela-4 out.”

More silence after that. Except for a lot of breathing out. Even Hulor tried to join in, though the sword through his chest quickly disabused him of the gesture.

“Your girlfriend talks a lot about her job, huh?” Deungjeong said.
“Never shuts up,” Koethni confirms.
“Tell her thanks when you see her,” Deungjeong said. “Good job. Don’t know if we could’ve made it through that without you.”
“Just returning the favor,” Koethni said, and smiled. “Promise you’ll never rescue us again, though?”

---

More than a few gateway jumps and transponder changes later, the Manta once known as Akwhela-4 gently settled into a landing bay on Atea. The hiss of its rear door opening released the funk of a thousand years (or at least several hours of hotboxed viscera before a hop at a somewhat friendly planet allowed the bulk of the corpses to be unloaded in the middle of nowhere) before it would admit the exit of the team, such as it was. Bashakra’i Master Spy Almost-Emeritus Bello was there to greet them, along with a small team of medicae. Deungjeong, always eager to bite bullets, strolled up to Bello with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Hey,” he said. “We’re back.”
“And half of Atea can smell it,” Bello said. “Is this what ‘mission accomplished’ looks like to you, Jiwoo?”
“We did run into some issues,” Deungjeong said. “But! We extracted your operatives in one piece. And we got rid of a team of Khiraba.”
“Giving them every reason to add you to their Most Wanted before you’ve even had a chance to learn the ropes,” Bello said.
“You don’t sound happy,” Deungjeong noted.
Bello was silent for a moment, watching Hulor and BONESAW (in a fresh new shell) help Marta with the gear. “I did not say I wasn't. However, you went in with far too little preparation, a plan with holes wide enough to drive needleships through and an unproven crew -”
“- and we succeeded,” Deungjeong cut in.
“And that you did,” Bello finished. “It was a bad situation, and despite the gross inadequacy of your plan, you accomplished the mission and everyone came back, which is what matters. Perhaps next time you will do so without setting fire to the legends of everyone involved and painting quite so big a target on your back.”
“Yes, Sir,” Deungjeong answered.
“Did you learn how to plan from Hug’sh, or…” Bello asked.
“He’s a good dude, he’s a friend, and I respect him,” Deungjeong said. “But I ain’t him. I’m making my own mistakes out here. So I’d appreciate it if you judge me by what I do. Sir.”
“Fair,” Bello replied. “Now, go get cleaned off. You smell like you dove into the protein recycler.”
“Yessir,” Deungjeong said. “Drinks are on you, then?”
“...first round only,” Bello said.
“I’ll take it,” Deungjeong said. “See you around.”

As Deungjeong wandered off to give everybody the good news, Bello walked over to Dor, who’d followed the conversation propped against a supply crate. He glanced down at her left leg and the seeped-through bandage covering the shrapnel wound in it.

“So,” Bello began. “You got your piece of the action.”
“Yeah,” Dor said.

They stared at each other for a moment.

“Was it what you hoped it would be?” Bello asked.
“No,” Dor said.
Bello tried to conceal a bit of relief. “Then I suppose that will be it, then? Any recommendations -”
Dor held up a hand to cut him off. “Didn’t say I won’t go again,” she said. “My recommendation is that I stay on the team.” She smirked. “They…we have a lot to learn.”
“You can say that again,” Bello said, looking over at the foursome trying to get the gear into something resembling order. “But they show a lot of promise.” He sighed, then looked back to Dor. “Different question. Are you getting what you need out of it?”

The face on that asshole just before I blew up the cave, Dor recalled. Like he never even considered he could be beaten. Must have been a lot of them with that expression. Only this time, I could see it for myself.

“Yes,” Dor said. “And then some.”
“Then tell Deungjeong I will expect after-action reports from the team by COB tomorrow,” Bello said. “And I will expect you to contact Paul for additional infiltration training.”
Dor nodded. “Will that be all?” she asked.
“Almost,” Bello said, and waved a medicae over. “Medicae, check out Dor’s leg, please. She’s not allowed to leave until you release her.”
Dor blinked, then looked away from him. “...you don’t have to worry about that,” she said.
“Still, I insist,” Bello replied. He leaned over towards her. “Even if you still question if you wish to come back, there are others who are more certain,” he whispered.
Dor looked back at him, saying nothing. But she nodded, at least. After a moment, she turned to the medicae. “Will it scar?” she asked.
“Shouldn’t even need a kauka,” the medicae replied.
Dor shrugged. “Doesn’t matter,” she muttered, then looked up to Bello. “I’ll see you at the bar.”
Bello smirked. “That, however, was never in doubt.”

XIII - You Are Glacially Invited

---

Steward Mausa Ogea was never alone. Not even when he was standing in the (literal) ruins of the Hordad Lounge and the (figurative) ruins of his career, he could never be alone, could never let things run without him there to make them run. He had trusted one person, that first-damned Ita Raa, and she didn’t even have the courtesy to be alive for him to shout at her. It was too late to fix this. All he could do was stand by her remains and be angry.

“You Ogea?” a man’s gruff voice accosted him. Mausa did not deign to turn right away. To the man’s credit, he seemed to get that not doing this at Mausa’s pace wouldn’t end well for him. Finally, when he had wasted enough precious time on being mad at Ita, Mausa turned, only to be confronted with another Khiraba, this one bald and lanky.
“Steward Mausa Ogea,” Mausa said, but quickly pushed down his flaring anger. “I am…sorry about the passing of your comrades, Khiraba…?”
“Call me Ini,” the Khiraba answered. “And yeah. I bet you are.”

Mausa felt his anger rise again. His political instincts got to work: was this anger justifiable? Could he let it out and have a good spin on it, or was it time to swallow it all down and play Nice Steward?

“How can I help you, then, Khiraba Ini?” Mausa asked. He thought he didn’t sound very angry, the right level of annoyed, even, but Ini’s non-reaction to that made him doubt himself for a moment.
“You can shave and put on a good suit,” Ini said. “The Jade Emperor’s having you over for dinner.”
“Well,” Mausa said, “I am humbled by the invitation to such -”
“Lemme stop you right there, Ogea,” Ini said. “It’s -”
“Steward,” Mausa said.
“Ogea,” Ini insisted.

Mausa felt his feet move on their own, squaring up to a fight. It wasn’t forgetfulness, it wasn’t crudeness…that Khiraba was making a point, and he was making it for everyone to hear. Mausa opened his mouth, hoping he would think of a good-sounding protest in the next few seconds, but Ini didn’t wait for him.

“If I were you, I’d get going,” Ini said. “Transfer’s in two hours at the gateport. We’re flying out in one.” Ini smirked. “You’ll be riding with me, unless you prefer the Manta with the body bags.”
“Now listen here, Khiraba,” Mausa said. “I know we’re all under a lot of pressure here. Again, I am sorry about your comrades, I liked them quite a bit. But if the Emperor hears how you delivered his invitation -”
“You’re still not getting it,” Ini said. “It’s not an invitation.” He leaned in to whisper. “I can’t mess up your face. You need to fit in a suit and sit at a table. Everything else, I got leeway. Now, do you still wanna try me, Ogea?”
“You can’t do this to me,” Mausa said. As he said it, he knew he shouldn’t have, or at least not this way. His voice softened. “You…please. You can’t just…”
“Can and will,” Ini said. “You wanna be a Steward, act like it. You wanna stay a Steward, you can practice your explanation for this clusterfuck on me, and that explanation better move me to tears. Because if you can’t get me on your side, you sure as shit won’t convince the Emperor, either.”
“Yes,” Mausa said, taking a step back. “Yes, well, I…”
“I got work to do,” Ini said. “I’ll see you at the pad.”

Mausa left without another word. Ini watched him go, watched him walk out. Part of him, no matter how much he disliked Mausa Ogea, wanted there to be a good explanation for this. An explanation so good it would wipe away the shame and disgrace. It almost made Ini sigh. There were a lot of Khiraba he wasn’t exactly sad to see go, that didn’t deserve to make it to retirement. Ita Raa wasn’t one of them. It wasn’t in his considerable power, but if it was, he would’ve switched places with her. ‘Cause now he definitely was one of those Khiraba nobody would miss.

“Vidas Lam, kiddo,” Ini whispered, taking a knee next to the body bag with Ita’s remains. “You just keep breaking your old man’s heart.”

The Credits

---

Credit Music: Joss Stone - I’ll Take It All

THIS HAS BEEN TASKFORCE 81X IN

“ICEBREAKER”

STARRING (in order of appearance):

Yono Oketim (Nadja Bjorlin)

Deungjeong "Jimmy" Jiwoo (Won Bin)

Marta Jiminez (Mishel Prada)

Hulor (Brian Dobson)

Dor Homa (Keren Mor)

BONESAW (Darin De Paul)

Ita "Top" Raa (Yael Eitan)

Mauon "Game" Tanas (Kivanç Tatlitug)

Harsa "Quicksand" Iaron (Jay Abdo)

Mausa Ogea (Jawad El Shakrij)

Manaj "Kickstart" Akest (Rimas Mansour)

Ngroni "Panacea" Kaorusaa (Menna Shalabi)

Valoon "Fix" Harsais (Hind Sabri)

Aberuni “Abe” Arperna (Ghazi Albuliwi)

Koethni Swaa (Myriam Fares)

Khabosai Center Controller (Matthew Mercer)

Bello (Peter Capaldi)

SPECIAL GUEST STAR:
Ini Raa (J.K. Simmons)

CRINGE MEME SONG:
Andrew W.K. - Ready To Die

TASKFORCE 81X WILL RETURN IN

“DEATH IS FOREVER”